


Drowning

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Attachment does not equal love in this fic, Gen, Heavy Angst, Jedi Culture Respected, Mostly Hurt Very Little Comfort, Public PTSD Response, Spectacle of Past Trauma, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Warning: Ongoing Story Without Plan- Could Go Anywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-03-26 22:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13867335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Obi-Wan and Baby Luke appear where General Kenobi was. Post-Mustafar Obi-Wan doesn't have a chance to figure out what happened before he's confronted with his battalion and...And Anakin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What's the point of time travel if you can't make everything 10x worse than it already was?
> 
> More Specific Warning for Chapter 1:  
> Public PTSD Response (Obi-Wan of Order 66)  
> Spectacle of Past Trauma (Again, many Clones witnessing Obi-Wan's terror of them)

 

It felt like drowning, Cody decided.

Seeing your General's wide eyes, staring at you and your brothers in terror. His saber out in a threatening guard, the weeping bundle in his left arm cradled close.

“Please don't attack,” General Kenobi begged, “the baby is harmless. It's not even Force-sensitive. Please,  _let us go._ ”

“Sir—”

“ _Stay back_ !” Kenobi shrieked, saber moving again, and every clone froze in horror. “I don't want to kill you,  _dear Force_ I don't, but I  _cannot let you kill Luke—_ he has a name,  _please,_ just like you, he's  _no threat—_ ”

“Sir, we would  _never—_ ”

It felt like a gasp of air when he saw General Skywalker walk up. “What's going on?”

Kenobi's face drained sheet white.

Skywalker looked puzzled, squinted at him. “Why do you have your lightsaber out? Is that— a  _baby_ ?”

“No!” Kenobi wailed. “You are  _dead,_ you have to be  _dead—_ ”

Skywalker's eyes widened. “Whoa, it's okay. I'm alive. What's going on, Obi-Wan?” He took a step forward.

Kenobi danced backwards, clearly trembling now. “ _You will not take him!_ I will not let you take him!” A tear spilled down Kenobi's cheek, captivating all present.

It felt like fire, burning in Cody's veins. His General, so afraid of them all. So  _afraid._

“It's screaming, Obi-Wan,” Skywalker soothed. “And it's— wow. Very Force sensitive.”

A keening wail escaped Kenobi.

In a heartbeat Skywalker was too close, the baby in his arms, cradled to his chest as he backed away from the shattering Kenobi. “It's yours, isn't it. Don't worry, Obi-Wan. If you don't want it to be a Jedi, we won't tell the Council about it.”

Confusion spilled over Kenobi's face, but it was chased away by despair.

Then determination.

The look of a man ready to  _die_ to accomplish a task.

It felt like vomit in the back of Cody's throat.

Kenobi dropped his saber and lunged for Skywalker, reaching for the baby. “Don't take him from me,  _don't!_ Vader,  _don't!_ ”

And then Cody's General was on his back, convulsing, blood spilling from his nose and his eyes glassy.

Skywalker yelped in surprise, handing the baby to the nearest trooper— Waxer— and dropping to his knees beside his brother. “ _Obi-Wan!_ ”

 

* * *

 

It felt like drowning, Anakin decided.

Seeing your brother's vital signs on the monitors, seeing a Padawan healer dabbing the blood from his ears and nose as it still dripped, hearing the Padawan's master explain that  _something_ was happening in Obi-Wan's brain, but they didn't know what.

In the Force, it felt like something too big was trying to fit into too small a space.

Medically, they had no answer.

“It's as if... some other mind is battling with Obi-Wan's, and one or the other is dying to give it room.”

When the healers vacated the medbay of the  _Resolute,_ Waxer edged into the room, holding a silent bundle.

Anakin looked down to find a tiny baby, sleeping the slumber of scream-induced exhaustion. He held out his arms, and the trooper placed the little one there.

“He called him  _Luke,_ Sir.”

Anakin stared into the tiny face, so powerful in the Force...

_Luke Kenobi. Obi-Wan's_ actual  _son._

And when faced with his adopted son, Obi-Wan had only seen him as a threat.

_What did he call me?_

Waxer backed out of the room, leaving Anakin alone with the two unconscious Kenobis.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he cradled the infant close.

_I would have loved you. I would have loved you because you were his. I would never have tried to take you from him._

_Never._

_And if Obi-Wan chose to leave the Order to raise you, I..._

_I would leave too._

 

* * *

 

It felt like drowning.

Obi-Wan  _knew._

He also knew he might never escape that feeling of lung-crushing claustrophobia. The knowledge that hell was coming.

He kept his eyes closed long after he returned to consciousness to try to sort through his thoughts and the sensations in the Force.

This wasn't his body.

At least, it wasn't the body of Obi-Wan Kenobi just days after Order 66, when he was trying to reach Tatooine to hide Anakin's precious son.

This was a younger Obi-Wan's body.

And he feared...

He feared that Obi-Wan no longer existed.

He hadn't tried to murder his younger self. He'd had no idea how to prevent it, how to go back— wasn't sure how he'd  _gotten here_ in the first place—

But in the last moments before suffocating, brutal death, the younger Obi-Wan Kenobi had  _understood._ He saw where the interloper had come from. Saw Luke. 

Realized what had happened to the clones, Jedi,  _Vader—_

He'd given the older Obi-Wan a solemn nod, a whispered  _save them, please,_ and released himself to the Force, no longer fighting to survive.

So Obi-Wan Kenobi, broken survivor, breathed in the body of a man he'd murdered.

_It hasn't happened yet. There may still be hope. It hasn't happened yet._

Anakin sat near, holding Luke. Obi-Wan could sense them.

He wasn't sure he wouldn't just burst into tears the moment he opened his eyes, however.

As he lay there, trying to find the courage, tears escaped him anyway.

And then a gasped sob when he couldn't breathe.

He could hear Anakin shift to stand. “Obi-Wan?”  
Obi-Wan winced an eye open, saw Anakin holding out the baby.

Obi-Wan tried to not snatch the infant from his hands when he accepted Luke, tried to find a calm facade, but he sensed Anakin's hurt as Obi-Wan huddled over the baby.

“He's all I have left,” Obi-Wan choked out, needing Anakin to  _understand._

_It's not you. Yet._

But his attempt only resulted in more pain in the Force from his former Padawan. “So... his mother...?”

“Dead,” Obi-Wan whispered, the word automatic.  _No. No, she's not._ And he recognized the battlefield— they were a good year out from Order 66.  _She's not even pregnant yet._

“I'm sorry, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured.

Obi-Wan shook his head, the tears falling harder. “You haven't done anything.”  _Yet._

“I'm going to help you, Obi-Wan. Whatever you need from me, I'm here.”

_I need you to give up Palpatine. I need you to learn how to love Padmé without being willing to slaughter a galaxy to save her life. I need you to learn how to let her be her own person so you don't murder her the instant she disagrees with you._

_I need for you to stand up for the clones the way you claim you hate slavery, not violate them in the worst way possible. I need you to not compel them to kill the only people who care about them, the only people they trust, because they cannot resist you._

_I need you to love me at_ all. _Because it took you nine-point-three seconds to decide to allow Cody to be forced to murder me._

A choked gasp dragged his gaze up.

He found Anakin staring at him in utter horror, and realized to his  _own_ that his shields were blown out, and Anakin had heard,  _felt_ all of that.

Obi-Wan clung to Luke and slipped from the bed, backing into a corner.

He had no idea how Anakin would react.

But until Anakin was out from under Palpatine's influence, Obi-Wan would  _die_ before he let Luke be in his charge.

 

* * *

 

He'd drowned.

It was the closest descriptor the overthrown Obi-Wan could come up with.

The struggle for space in his own body, the knowledge that something  _else_ was  _taking_ it.

It had been terrifying to allow it to find completion. To let go.

He didn't regret the decision, but he wasn't quite sure where he was now.

Drowning in a sea of the Force.

And then arms were around him, a familiar scent, a familiar  _feel—_

Obi-Wan burrowed himself in the presence he'd missed for so long.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured, voice hoarse with grief. “I am sorry to do that to you, but it had to be done.”

“Leaving me when you died?”

“No. Using you to kill yourself.”  
“He has the best chance of saving Anakin. Saving them all.” Obi-Wan shook his head, pressing himself closer to his master. “And I was ready to see you again.”

And the overwhelming presence of Qui-Gon Jinn, blotting out just about everything else, was a drowning Obi-Wan welcomed with open arms.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Satine Kryze saw the silent blue flash of her holodisk.

She excused herself from the meeting, disregarding the stunned and bewildered gazes that watched her go.

Only one man had this particular frequency, and he never used it except with gravest need.

Satine swept past one of her guards at the door to her room, glancing at him as she passed. He held up two fingers, signaling the room had been swept for surveillance half an hour ago.

Even so, she triggered a dampener as soon as the door closed behind her and then accepted the call on the larger floor disk.

A lifesize Obi-Wan appeared, hunched and huddled around a sleeping infant in his arms. Air choked into his lungs as he caught sight of Satine, as if he hadn't seen her in a very long—

_No. As if he thought he never would see me again._

For a moment he simply drank in the sight of her.

There were layers of brokenness in this man that hadn't been there when they spoke the week previous— their regular chatting time. She'd seen nothing in the reports from the war that would explain  _this much._

“I need help,” he whispered. “I— oh Force,  _Satine_ —” Tears flooded his eyes but didn't make it past his eyelashes.

She stepped closer, reaching out to place her hand against his cheek. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to claim this baby.” A single tear  _did_ fall, then, scarring its way down his cheek. “As yours. And— as mine.”

Satine paused, thoroughly and truly surprised.  _Well. That is not what I thought he would say._ She peered into the sleeping face of the child, noted the tear-swollen misery of the little one. “Is it in danger?”  
“Yes. He is.” Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder, fear in his eyes. “I cannot account for where he came from to the Council, to the Republic, to anyone. I know, but I can prove nothing. And if he's tested, we're— there is too much at stake. Far too much. He cannot draw suspicion.”

“Is not the protocol to hide children within the system?”

“He's— spectacularly Force-sensitive. I can't let him go into the Temple, they would bloodwork at least, and that  _cannot be on file._ Anywhere. Not yet.”

Satine studied his face, read hopelessness there— she hadn't seen that in him since the first two days of Maul's reemergence, before Obi-Wan healed from the terrible beating the zabrak had given him. Before Obi-Wan managed to re-find who he had become in the past ten years.

Satine's brow furrowed, and she shifted her gaze from his to the baby once more. “You are willing to throw away your reputation, and potentially your future authority in the Order.” _What could motivate—_

“Satine, please don't. Don't figure it out.” His tone said he knew she could, if she worked at it enough.

Satine peered into his eyes. “What has you so afraid?”  
“Will you keep him safe? Take him to Mandalore?”

Satine felt her insides knot up. “You know how Mandalorians connect to the children they bring into their homes. Are you asking me to shatter my heart when his people finally come for him?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan choked. “Please, help me.”  
And that sobbed cry for help left Satine with only one reply she  _could_ make. “Tell me how old he is; we'll figure out a way to make this work. Get him to me, and I will take him as my own.”

Some of the tension drained out of him into sheer exhaustion. “I have contacts. I can have a birth certificate forged—”

“No.” Satine cut him off with a shake of her head. “You need to not leave a trail at all, any more than you already have. Trust me: I will make this work, but you need to not leave a trail.”

He bowed his head. “Can you grant me landing clearance in an hour?”

“Certainly. It will be ready when you arrive.”

 

* * *

 

“Obi-Wan...” Anakin watched his master huddle, waiting for the Twilight to reach Mandalore. “I don't understand. That baby is just days old— maybe less. How did it end up on Halmad?”  
Obi-Wan did not reply.

Anakin crouched down before him, peering up in concern into wary, exhausted eyes. “I know he's your son, Obi-Wan. We're alone here, nobody knows where we're going, it's okay. The clones aren't going to say anything. They love you too much for that. I just need to know why a newborn is two planets away from its mother.”

“I panicked.”

_Oh, thank the Force, he's talking._ “Okay. Did— did Satine come to Halmad? Secretly? Maybe... to tell you she was pregnant?”

Obi-Wan didn't say a word.

“Something went wrong, she went into labor?”

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, hurt entering his eyes.

“It's alright,” Anakin soothed. “She's alive, right, though?”  _Tell the truth this time._   
Obi-Wan gave a brief nod.

“We can work with that, then.” Anakin gave a nod. “And I think she can forgive you for panicking. Newborn in a warzone, your instincts were good even if they made you a little crazy for a bit.”

Obi-Wan sent him an uneasy look.

“No, I'm sure she will. You're bringing her son back, aren't you?”  _Okay, maybe she'll be a little mad. Like... rip your head off mad for absconding with her baby instead of talking._ “We'll take this one step at a time. Make sure Luke is safe and fed and secret. Do you think her court knows about the pregnancy?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Good. Then maybe she can keep Luke hidden the way she kept your other kid hidden.”

Obi-Wan's eyes flew wide and a noise escaped him.

_Oops._ “So Korkie  _isn't_ yours.”

“No—? No. Korkie is her  _nephew,_ ” Obi-Wan sputtered.

“Okay,” Anakin soothed. “I mean, most everybody in the army thinks he's yours, but—”

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped open in shock. “ _What_ ?”

“Right age, and he's got... red hair. And his nose...”

“Is a  _Kryze_ nose!”

“Yeah, but he's... got your chin.”

That fired a disgusted look onto Obi-Wan's face as he glowered at Anakin, and to be honest, it made the former Padawan feel better than he had since this whole disaster started.

_Would have thought I'd be the one making a mistake and getting_ my  _girl knocked up. Not you._

_I'm going to take care of you, Master. I've got you._

For now, he was ignoring Obi-Wan's alarming... vision... of the future. One thing at a fripping time. Or Anakin wouldn't be able to provide any support at  _all_ to his freaking out master.

“So we'll get Luke back into the hands of his Mommy, put ice on the bruise you'll have on your cheek from Satine's slap, and then we'll focus on what's next.”

“He's not going to the Temple.”

“Okay.”

Obi-Wan stared down at his son. “If anyone finds out—”

“Yeah, I know.” Anakin dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “Nobody's going to find out. You're not going to lose your commission or your knighthood. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

_If you'd managed to give me just four months' head notice._

Satine scrolled through the images of her from that space of time, hissing air between her teeth.

_Clearly_ not pregnant. 

_Alright._

A holo disguise could work. None of the events she was going over now— just to be safe— had any real disaster befall her “dress,” or anyone close enough to have touched her front.

_Claim I wore a holo deceiver to conceal my growing size._

The baby was two days old.

Her guards knew she was bringing in a baby, of course, and that she was going to be portraying it as hers. She knew each of these people, men and women, and knew their loyalty.

One had midwifing experience.  _We'll just claim that's how my son was born. In my chambers._

Satine and another had already gone through her apartments, adjusting things and cannibalizing items to make it look like a baby had been planned for, just not with purchasable items that might leave a tell-tale trail for the paparazzi.

_Oh, it'll get out._

But it needed to look like it had been a conspiracy from early on. Not last minute.

_And from fear of what would happen should Obi-Wan being the father be discovered._

Which... for this plan to work at all...

Would  _have_ to be leaked, at some point. If the newsfolk didn't manage it on their own, Satine and Obi-Wan would need to take steps. Before someone tried to sneak a parentcy test to satisfy their curiosity.

_Ready._

Satine put the last touches on the holo disguise she'd been wearing “all along” and clipped it to her belt.

Time to meet her son.

_Luke Kryze._

 

* * *

 

It was a private landing pad that the Twilight was allowed onto.

Anakin walked by Obi-Wan's side as he exited, Anakin's hand hovering over his lower back, Anakin braced for trouble and angled perhaps a tad too protectively.

But Obi-Wan needed to know: Anakin would  _never,_ ever betray Obi-Wan or Obi-Wan's family. Gods, no.

Satine met them, her face a cold mask. She accepted the baby, hugged it tight to her heart, then slapped Obi-Wan  _hard_ across the cheek. His head snapped to the side, but he didn't seem surprised.

Hell. Anakin sure wasn't. Satine certainly kept the rest of her fury locked inside, however, and allowed them to follow her into the palace.

“The worst is over,” Anakin whispered in Obi-Wan's ear as they walked.

Obi-Wan simply shivered, fear in his Force-signature.

_And I've never... never felt you so lost before._

Not even after Qui-Gon died.

_But I guess you never thought you'd have a baby without warning either. Force, do I need to have the condom talk with him?_

 

* * *

Obi-Wan understood Satine's strategy.

It didn't keep the cut on his cheek from burning any less.

She'd turned her ring inwards before coming out to meet him, so the cut stone drove into his cheekbone, splitting the skin.

Important, of course. Anakin needed to be sold on how angry Satine was over the theft of her baby, and a wound that would scab and gain an ugly bruise would remind him every time the younger Jedi saw it that it had been  _meant_ to  _hurt._

Points to the beautiful Mando.

_And there is nothing I can ever do to make this up to her._

He'd known when he'd called exactly  _what_ he'd been asking her to give up. What he was asking her to endure.

She took great pride in her love for him being a thing the Council had no problem with, a thing they both could be proud of.

Now it would look like they'd been irresponsible, that Obi-Wan had broken his oaths to his Order. The Council would feel slapped in the face, and Satine's privileged status would shift.

The scandal would frustrate the militant part of her populace—  _lover of a Jedi, are you?_ — and the peaceful part of her populace as well—  _lover of a military official, are you?_ — and weaken her standing with her place as head of the Neutral Systems—  _in bed with the Republic's war machine, are you?_

A thousand systems followed her because they believed her when she spoke.

That was before she had a baby with a man who was decidedly  _not_ neutral.

The Separatist Parliament would undoubtedly take offense.

Obi-Wan felt he deserved the strike, even though Satine hadn't meant it in a vicious way.

That  _too_ made him feel guilty.

_It is a terrible thing I have asked of her, to keep Luke safe._

And she didn't even resent him for it.

Obi-Wan let Anakin tend to the cut and bruise, vaguely heard his former Padawan make small sympathetic noises...

_What am I going to do?_

His entire focus had been on keeping Luke safe and hidden.

Mission accomplished.

Now he sat staring into nothingness.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will include Obi-Wan reaching a point where death by his own hand looks preferable to enduring, and where a flashback and knowledge of the future instill an absolute, visceral terror in him when faced with Anakin when they're alone. Expect it to be disturbing. Anakin will be focused on trying to save his life, not ease his fear, and he will completely fail in easing any of Obi-Wan's terror.

 

“Obi-Wan, I get it was a terrible shock. Finding out you have a kid,  _and_ —”  _ And that terrible vision. _ “But the two of you need to speak. I mean. Luke is your baby too.”

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing as his thumb hit the vicious purple bruise. “I'm not ready for this, Anakin.”

The truth of  _ that  _ made the Force heavy around them both, dragging Obi-Wan under.

“Is anybody ever, though? I mean,  _ really _ ? And you've got one up on a lot of other people. I mean, you raised me already, so.”

Obi-Wan didn't look at him.

_ Right. And you had a vision I— _

There were problems. And Anakin just couldn't  _ deal  _ with that right now. Especially since hearing Obi-Wan's thoughts in that terrible moment seemed to have opened up something that had been closed within Anakin.

Something the Son had shown him on Mortis.

And... how he'd reacted.

Anakin found he couldn't really blame Obi-Wan for his terror now, especially in conjunction with his helpless son.

_ After all... last time my eyes went yellow and I spewed darkness, he reached out to me with trust and I... _

Left him to die. Let the Son rip apart his innards and walked away without a backwards glance.

Anakin cringed. No wonder Obi-Wan was having difficulty knowing who to trust at the moment.

_ We'll fix it,  _ he vowed to himself.  _ We'll fix it, we'll fix it. _

Visions were just... things.

“So first we need to apologize very prettily to the Duchess, and convince her you won't run off with Luke again. Second, we get her permission for you to be in Luke's life. Third, you decide if you want to leave the Order now, move to Mandalore, and put your full attention into being a dad, or if you want to stay with the Order until the war is over while keeping them both a secret, or if you want to stay with the Order permanently, and forever keep them a secret.”

That dragged Obi-Wan from his stupor, at least temporarily. “Leave him secret  _ permanently _ ? Leave him thinking his father is  _ ashamed  _ of claiming him?”

“Okay.” Anakin hadn't really thought of it like that, but...  _ No, I guess that wouldn't be fair to seven-year-old Luke. And would be rough as hell for sixteen-year-old Luke. _

But Obi-Wan wasn't done. “ He might not have been expected, but  _ he  _ is not the mistake!  _ Other  _ things were! And he's going to have a terrible enough time as it is.”

“I... don't see why,” Anakin admitted. “His mother clearly loves him,  _ you  _ love him, even if figuring that out made you a little... erratic at first, but I get it. You'd never experienced love before. How could you be expected to  _ not  _ react strongly?”

Oh.

Anakin realized he'd messed up even as the last word left his mouth. If stuffing his foot in would fix it, he would  _ do  _ it, swear to Force, but it wouldn't— such disbelief and  _ pain  _ filled Obi-Wan's eyes.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand down his face. “I see.”

Anakin kept silent, afraid of making it even worse.

Obi-Wan stood, looking aged and grim. He paused in the doorway, turning his head but not fully looking at Anakin. “You're right about one thing. I love Luke with everything I have left, which isn't much. I will do anything to keep him safe. And you're right about another thing, I need to tell Satine so. Maybe you could do me the favor of waiting here.”

“Obi-Wan, I...”

But Anakin couldn't find words, and Obi-Wan gave up waiting.

He walked out and the door slid shut after him, leaving Anakin to sag onto one of the two guest beds and groan.  _ Padmé, why can't I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? _

 

* * *

 

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't live through it again, endure the hell coming. He couldn't fight, alone and desperate, trying to change the outcome, pouring his soul out to save the people he loved only to watch them torn from his fingers  _ again. _

He couldn't.

He didn't have anything left in him to give.

The thought flitted across his mind of using Anakin's access to the Chancellor to get in close and murder the Sith, to then be hauled away to face prison for decades after even his life drained away.

One of those ridiculous one hundred-plus year sentences.

Or hell— it was war time, maybe he would just be shot, put down in front of a firing squad.

And then there was Dooku, who was probably just waiting for a chance to oust Palpatine so he could take his place. Or Maul, who probably also knew the  _ grand plan. _ Obi-Wan had no way of stopping up the power vacuum.

Any resistance, any attempt would result in an endeavor that would require  _ so much  _ of a man who had nothing left to fight with.

Obi-Wan stumbled, crashing to his knees in the center of one of the giant rooms along the shortcut to Satine's chambers. Currently empty, with the chandeliers unlit, the only light was that which filtered through the blue glass, creating a low murk.

The Obi-Wan he'd murdered had wanted him to  _save_ everything they loved.

_Not that I_ can  _love, according to Anakin._

A man he'd entrusted his entire  _soul_ to, a man he would  _die_ for and yet who he'd slain on Mustafar's burning fields.

Obi-Wan reached into the folds of his tunic where he had hidden the small pistol he'd filched from the  _Negotiator_ before letting Anakin take him to Mandalore. He pulled it out, hand shaking.

He primed the weapon, as inelegant as it was, and stared for a moment at the dull matte barrel.

The agony of watching  _his Anakin_ in that security recording—

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and raised the muzzle to place it inside.

The blaster was yanked out of his hand with the Force so brutally that it broke his fingers, and sent skidding across the floor.

A terrible aura he recognized flooded the room, and Obi-Wan turned while launching backwards, trying to get away.

Anakin stormed towards him, eyes alight with fury, a snarl on his face, and oh  _Force,_ that rage—

Something that had only been barely patched together within Obi-Wan since awakening in the med bay tore open, and all he could see was Vader. Glowing eyed, vicious, trying to murder Padmé—  _Padmé_ because she couldn't accept his wholesale slaughter of Obi-Wan's family.

Obi-Wan scrabbled backwards, hands scraping against the floor, feet sliding against the glass, he had to get  _away._

Permanently.

He rolled over and tried to launch himself with broken hand and desperate feet, but Anakin dropped on him like a bird of prey, pinning him.

A scream escaped Obi-Wan, utter panic seizing him. “No, no,  _no_ !”

Anakin seized the broken hand, crushing it to the floor, preventing him from seizing the blaster again.

“What are you  _thinking_ ?” Anakin snarled, and the tone of his voice left Obi-Wan shuddering beneath him, tears filling blue-green eyes, gasps for air not quite working.

He'd survived  _once._ He'd been willing to plod forward through the endless night to protect Luke, but to be demanded of to live it  _again_ ? To  _go back?_

“Please,” he choked. “Please—”

“Let you just  _go_ ?” Anakin snapped.

Obi-Wan cringed away from him, but he had nowhere to go but the cold, unforgiving glass floor. “Take it out of me. The hate and resentment you have for me, just do what you want with me, but please,  _don't kill my family—_ ”

He was babbling, he was sobbing, he couldn't see  _out_ , and Force  _please,_ oh Force—

“The  _frip_ ?” Anakin hissed, gripping tighter and jolting Obi-Wan against the floor, as if to shake sense into him.

“I don't know what I did, but it doesn't matter. I'll let you. I'll just let you, just  _please—_ ”

Not the little ones Obi-Wan cuddled in the youngling wing. Not the aging masters who had watched over him for so long, gentle places of safety when Bruck had been cruel. Not his  _home,_ his  _people,_ and Force, he  _loved them, please—_

He couldn't see, and Anakin's hands were cruel. “Please! I cannot  _bear this again!_ Wasn't once enough? Mercy—” He tried to wrench out of Anakin's grasp and scrabbled for the blaster again.

And then something smashed against his shields and he shrieked, because no, Palpatine could  _not_ find out about Luke— no, no,  _ no— _

And then he was open, and  _ invaded  _ and wailing and trying to call the blaster to his fingers—

The sleep suggestion hit him like a saber hilt to the head.

 

* * *

 

Anakin hadn't wanted to hurt him.

A sleep command shouldn't have taken so much, should have been easy, and certainly better than  _ hitting  _ him—

But Obi-Wan had fought his intrusion with a horrific agony of soul.

Exhausted, Anakin sagged over the top of his former master, staring at the blaster with terrified eyes.

Obi-Wan had come so close.

Anakin peeled himself off of Obi-Wan's unconscious, crumpled form and flopped over onto his back, trying to catch his breath.

He'd sensed impending...  _ something,  _ and had raced to catch up to Obi-Wan.

Anakin had thought he'd need to protect him from some  _ outside  _ thing.

Obi-Wan had simply wanted protection from  _ Anakin himself. _

Why would having a baby send Obi-Wan into a vision comprised of the worst nightmare scenario, built undoubtedly from Obi-Wan's own subconscious fears, and then  _ break  _ him so completely?

Was a child with the woman you loved  _ such a bad thing _ ?

_ Holy Sith. If this is what happens when Force sensitives have kids, no wonder the Order forbids it. _

 

* * *

 

Satine had heard a scream.

Faint in the distance, but she  _ knew  _ that particular scream, and it sounded  _ desperate,  _ something far more broken than she had ever heard from the man before.

Half of her guard followed her as she raced to track down the sound, the other half stayed to protect Luke.

_ My son. Our son. _

For as long as the Force would allow it.

She found the two lying flat on the floor of the banquet hall, Anakin raising his head to see them, and Obi-Wan completely still.

Satine flew to the older Jedi's side, crouching beside him and checking him for injury. “Intruder?” she barked at Anakin.

He shook his head, face pale.

Satine saw the blaster nearby, a crack in its casing. Military grade, and the glass around unharmed—

_ Impact didn't cause that damage.  _ So the Force had.

There was something wrong with Obi-Wan's hand, and as Satine inspected it, she felt the bones shift beneath her probing fingers.

_ He was holding it. _

Right hand.

“What is his condition?” she snapped.

Anakin looked shocked by her tone. “I put him under a heavy sleep suggestion. A... very heavy one.”

Satine sat back on her heels, rubbing her hand over her forehead and throwing her headdress on the floor.

The conscious Jedi jumped, eyes wide.

“He's only tried this once before,” Satine growled, and she could feel her eyes going cold.

Anakin sat up, looking alarmed. “ _ When _ ?”

“Long before your time.” Satine took note of the mess on Obi-Wan's face, and, drawing out a kerchief, began to clean away the mingled snot and tears. “He faced the worst my kin could do, and sought escape in the only way left to him that he could see. Fortunately, I found him in time.”

“What happened to the soldiers?”  
_ Soldiers?  _ That word implied neatly-formed rows of attack, a chain of command that reigned in stragglers, and a coherency of  _ purpose  _ before  _ hunger. _

But her people always,  _ always  _ put the desire to inflict suffering  _ first. _

Even if it harmed the overall goal.

“I killed every one of them,” Satine replied, tone curt. “Their innards painted their base, and their screams of pain made Obi-Wan hesitate.”

She felt the full force of that memory and allowed it to take  _ form _ , the way Obi-Wan had shown her how.

Given Anakin's jolt and wide eyes, he'd seen it.

 

* * *

 

A woman clad in viscera-drenched armor, helmet off, eyes on fire, blood of her victims on her cheek and in her pale gold hair, Satine Kryze looked like an avenging goddess come down from the suns to claim her servant.

Obi-Wan, on his knees, trembling, braid ripped from his head and lying in the corner, stomped into Obi-Wan's collected refuse—

_ Oh,  _ Anakin realized as he saw the moment.  _ That's why his braid was so long. _ They must have salvaged the emblem of all he had endured and then woven it back in once his braid grew out again.

Because of it, that braid had nearly swept Obi-Wan's waist by his knighting, and Anakin had always been slightly envious that his own had never reached such a length.

Obi-Wan still clung to his shard of glass, and the wounds his body bore left Anakin reeling with horror. He hadn't done them to himself.

Satine let go of the memory, and Anakin tried to catch his breath.

“So tell me, Anakin Skywalker,” Satine asked, her voice once again poised and collected, as if she hadn't just  _ sent  _ him images straight out of a horror holo, “what terrified him so much that he would attempt to take a step so fundamentally against his personal belief system?”

_ Obi-Wan never leaves people relying on him behind. _

_Obi-Wan never walks away from responsibility until it is over or can be transferred to another capable and willing individual._

_And Obi-Wan refuses to make significant life choices from a place of fear._

Satine was right.

_ It's just part of who he is as a person. _

So what could possibly have torn him so brutally apart as to make him let go of all of that out of sheer desperation to escape the torment?

Anakin's gaze shifted back to Obi-Wan's unmarked body.

“You have to know,” Anakin murmured, “he would never hurt Luke. I don't know why he's... acting so out of character, but he would  _ never  _ hurt Luke, and he is determined not to alert the Jedi to Luke's existence. Neither of us will try to take Luke away from you.”

And oh, Anakin wished Obi-Wan could be behaving in a way that would encourage Satine to grant visiting rights, maybe even partial custody, but for some reason Obi-Wan just  _ couldn't. _

Anakin's hand reached out, fingertips tracing the bones he broke in his own desperation and fear.

_ I am sorry. _

So sorry.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Obi-Wan first became aware of an ache in his hand and the feel of bandages.

Next came the scent of Satine's bedchambers— clean sheets and Mandalore lilies.

Lastly, he sensed the presence of the woman he loved so  _much._

In spite of Anakin's judgments and pronouncements.

Obi-Wan dragged heavy eyelids open, found Satine sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, watching him.

Memory straggled back, and shame followed close on its heels.

He could see himself, weeping, begging for mercy—

For death.

_There truly is nothing of me left. Not even dignity._

He'd managed to hold on to  _that_ when everything had been stripped from him. That and his code of conduct.

_So much for either._

“Mmm. The sleeping knight awakens,” Satine murmured, leaning over him with a gentle smile. “He faced a truly terrible beast, but has survived the grievous wounds.”

Obi-Wan's gaze fell away. “The beast was myself,” he said, discovering his voice to be raw.

As if he'd been screaming earlier.

_I was._

“The beast is something you passed through within the last couple of days. Something that wounded you more terribly than any of the horrors I've seen you pass through. It has to do with both of our sons.”

She meant Anakin in that plural, of course. Her Mandalorian nature had been quick to recognize the bonds of family within the Order. Calling the relationship functions by different names hadn't kept her from recognizing the nature of a thing by  _whatever_ name it was called.

She always referred to Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan's father, and Anakin as his son.

And given her  _also_ Mandalorian willingness to adopt at the drop of a hat, it hadn't taken long to refer to the nine-year-old in a grieving Obi-Wan's care as “their” son. 

In those early days after Qui-Gon's death, Obi-Wan had clung to her, far away physically though she had been. And her willingness to welcome into her heart a child she'd never met before had eased Obi-Wan into seeing Anakin for who he was and coming to love him, much sooner than Obi-Wan might have if he'd had to grieve alone.

“Something has been done to you, but it left no marks on your body. It's carved instead in your eyes, your carriage, and your spirit.”

Of course the hunter of man would notice.

“I cannot tell you how,” he whispered, knowing he should probably hide  _all_ the cards until he had something of a plan, but deep within he knew there would be no plans.

Plans required a mind that hadn't been shattered, its tactical skill broken when the rest of him gave way, on a transport headed for Tatooine one final time. Only Luke had kept his shell going.

Luke didn't need him now.

“And I do not even know if I believe it. But I lived— I lived through months, when the rest of you experienced simply minutes. I watched you die. I watched everything,  _everyone_ I ever loved die by Anakin's hand. And then he came for me. And I—” Tears building in Obi-Wan's eyes  _hurt,_ almost as much as the crippling ache in his throat and chest. “I cut him down and watched him burn alive, because I couldn't— I  _couldn't kill him—_ ”

A wretched sob tore out of his lungs, and then Satine was there, drawing his head to rest on her lap and stroking her fingers through his hair as he broke in her hands, weeping in agony.

“Survivors guilt,” Satine murmured, near inaudible. “Bewilderment from the deepest of betrayals, and loss.”

Sketching out with words her diagnosis.

“I was going into hiding, running from a government that condoned the entire annihilation of the Order. Everywhere I turned there was another news alert explaining how the Jedi were responsible for their own slaughter— and all I could focus on was trying to keep Luke alive, because he was  _all I had left,_ and they would try to  _take him too._ ”

“Those outside blaming the victims. Fear for what little hadn't been stolen from you.” Satine gave a grim nod, her fingers never slowing in their soothing. “You were holding together until you could see Luke into safety. It is not surprising you found your breaking point once he was hidden with me.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, feeling a horrible emptiness within himself. “Do you believe such an unbelievable tale?”

“Wounds do not come from  _nothing,_ Obi-Wan. And yours run clear into bone. Whether these experiences happened to the rest of us or not, they happened to you. No night terror can wound the way you have been.”

“Anakin thinks I had a terrible vision. A false one.”

“Vision or no, false or no, possible or no, your wounds are  _there,_ and must be addressed. I fear Anakin focused too heavily on the perceived logic of reality, and not enough on your soul bleeding all over the floor.”

Obi-Wan caught her hand with his left, unbroken one, and crushed it to his chest. “I have missed you. So terribly. For weeks before everything else.”

“I am here now.”

He heaved an exhausted sigh. “I cannot endure this again. And I cannot  _bear_ hope for escape only to have it dashed one more time. Every step of the way I thought I could change our trajectory. That I could save you— I believed it  _fully_ just a second before it was torn from me. The  _war was over_ when my people were annihilated. And I thought Anakin had died with honor, and that I would rejoin him shortly, when I learned—” He couldn't still his trembling, the sickened shudders of  _pain._

“You have been brutally used,” Satine whispered. “Efficient. It contains a subtlety and completeness that makes my people's haste and impatience look amateurish.”

_You're right,_ he realized, and the knowledge somehow dulled a bit of the edge of sheer pain.  _If one wanted to plan to break Obi-Wan Kenobi, this was the best possible gamble._

The spaces in time between each hope and loss, years distant at first, and then growing ever closer together until one final blow that just kept revealing new cruelties the longer he survived.

In that sense, whether he died on Mustafar or lived would have been irrelevant. The results fairly equal.

He'd escaped losing it entirely by the skin of his teeth, drawn into Luke's orbit by the child's innocence and helplessness.

The unwitting strategy of the universe had gambled well, if it wanted to break Obi-Wan Kenobi, but somehow, he had walked out of it, ready to fight on even with his heart and person utterly fragmented.

_If I were trying to destroy me, one of two options would remain._

_The first would be killing Luke. But Force knows I would find a way to protect Leia, then, even if from a distance. I would_ find  _something to do. And if even she were taken from me..._

Then he would smuggle himself as close to the Emperor as he could get, and die trying to kill him. He wouldn't succeed, of course, but death would be on his terms. In battle.

The second option had far more chance of succeeding.

_To send me back and make me live it all again._

So of  _course_ that's what had been done to him.

“An elegant plan,” Satine murmured, undoubtedly thinking something similar.

Obi-Wan shuddered again.  _True._ “And all the worse for the fact that it was never aimed for  _me._ Its effects on me are purely accidental, it was  _Anakin_ that the Sith wanted. I was meant to die multiple times along the road. If I had just  _died earlier,_ I would not have been forced to witness it all.”

Obi-Wan submitted to the gentleness of her hands as she guided him up and had him lie turned toward the center of the bed, his head once again on the pillow. For a moment she disappeared, and then she returned with Luke in her arms, placing him beside Obi-Wan, well within reach.

The baby looked so peaceful, now that he slept. Tiny chest rising and falling, perfectly sculpted ears, nose, eyelashes. Oh, Force, such long lashes for one so little, and just a scattering of the palest blond on the top of his head.

“Now,” Satine murmured, standing over them, “you thought you would never see me again. You thought you would never feel safe again, and you haven't had a chance to really  _see_ Luke because you've been too terrified for his life. Do you trust me to keep you safe for the next hour? Do you believe I  _can_ ?”

Not indeterminately, considering the restraints she'd bound herself with, but for an hour? “Yes.”

“Then here is what I want you to do. I want you to focus entirely on Luke being here in this moment, and  _me_ being here in this moment. No past, no future, no fear, no regret, no grief. Meditate on Luke's form, his presence, his Force-signature, everything about him, and let the entire universe fade away. Stay there until I draw you out of it.”

Obi-Wan wanted to protest, but he could see his own unraveling, his desperate need for rest. Not just sleep, but a  _break_ for his mind.

So he submitted. He turned his gaze to the just  _days_ old form. To the size of the feet hidden away within the garment Luke wore. Obi-Wan touched the center of the foot, marveled at how his finger was almost too large in diameter for that curve to really fit.

Luke was experiencing no fear in this moment, only perfect trust.

Obi-Wan hovered his hand over the tiny chest— nearly covering  _all_ of his body in the process— and felt the gentle breathing. He put no weight there, not wanting to hinder Luke's lungs, but Obi-Wan watched, allowing himself to be entranced by the  _strength_ of the flame of life in this child. So frail, so easily snuffed out— and yet so  _strong._

Obi-Wan could see the faint pulse of the heartbeat in Luke's throat, hinting at the blood flowing in miniature veins.

That led Obi-Wan up to the little face, where he saw traces of both Padmé and Anakin. From there he contemplated the ears. Somewhere deep inside lay the three tiny bones that were as large now as they would  _ever_ be throughout Luke's entire life. Balanced just perfectly to enable him to hear.

Luke was a living thing, and living things were  _incredible._

Obi-Wan placed his arm flat on the bed, bent at the elbow so that his forearm lay on the other side of Luke, but the bend in his elbow fell beneath Luke's feet, and with him positioned so he wouldn't accidentally place weight on Luke, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, simply listening to the infant's breathing.

Precious, each breath.

And oh, Force, he loved this baby. How could he love this baby  _so much_ ? He'd only known him for two days, days that hadn't really been conducive to just appreciating the little one.

Was it possible he loved Anakin  _so much_ that he just automatically loved Anakin's son to an extent that it made his heart ache? But was it possible to love Luke for his  _own_ sake after such a short time without him being Obi-Wan's own blood child?

_I don't know what you are to me. I don't really care._

Claiming Luke as his son would be far less traumatic than he had once thought. While he knew he would have to resurface, feel again that agony of  _Anakin_ and what Anakin had done to Padmé...

Luke had no part in that. Luke was new, and filled with so much  _light,_ just from being  _alive._ A tiny little star in the bed beside Obi-Wan, a beacon of pure  _good_ in a universe utterly mad.

And while he had known it before, known it as he fled, ember-scorched and weeping, that he would give everything he was to keep Luke safe...

He knew it now, again, without that duress and panic.

He wouldn't keep Luke safe only because Luke was all he had left, or because Anakin couldn't and Obi-Wan would do anything he could for his brother...

But because Obi-Wan loved Luke.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, I'm headcanoning that the custom of smearing infant food onto a man's skin so it can be “nursed” off is a Mandalorian custom. It was unexpected, or I would have warned you sooner. It's not tremendously graphic, but I'm warning for it, ret'lini, as the Mandos would say. “Just in case.”
> 
> If you want to skip it, it's in the last section before the end of the chapter, where the perspective shifts from Satine to Obi-Wan that final time.

 

He fell asleep.

Satine, standing watch over her two  _nearly_ equally vulnerable boys, felt her own quiet smile. 

Obi-Wan had meditated, allowing his mind a safe place within Luke's tiny soul.

A man couldn't heal while still strapped to the rack.

_He is far too gone to carry the weight of planning._

Satine settled into a chair, watching the two slumbering creatures on her bed. 

Taking a flimsi, she wrote down questions as they occurred to her.

_One at a time only,_ she decided. Obi-Wan had to heal and recover if he was to discover what in hell's name he was supposed to do with what had happened to him.

The questions on her list grew ever more dire.

_Oh, Obi._

When he had asked her to claim the little one, she'd been able to see he understood what the choice would most likely do to  _her._

_I am not so sure he considered what it will do to Obi-Wan Kenobi._

And while she had at first assumed he was working off of some sort of vague plan, the first  _part_ of which would be turning Luke over to her, the disaster where his hand had been broken had proven that wasn't true.

Satine was going to have to steer this ship.

_Darling, I do not think you yet know what this will cost you._ And the thought that there was more pain to come that Obi-Wan hadn't even really considered yet? It left Satine's heart grieving for him.

_You will need help to stand._

They had always been two whole individuals, their love vibrant and strong, but it wasn't a thing that twisted them out of the orbits they wanted for their lives. It had been something that complimented and completed them, but neither Obi-Wan nor Satine had been  _empty_ without it, before it entered their lives. Obi-Wan was more prone to getting dragged into an orbit surrounding someone he loved, whereas Satine had always set her own course, from teenagerhood on.

Obi-Wan had latched on to Qui-Gon, until his every waking thought had centered around pleasing and protecting and healing and supporting him until the moment Qui-Gon Jinn dragged in his last breath. Obi-Wan had shifted to Anakin, surrendering to that same magnetic pull that he had only once successfully avoided.

He hadn't tailored his life to fit Satine Kryze. Though he'd come so very, very close.

_And now his sun has betrayed him. Turned that devotion and trust into a weapon and slaughtered him with it._

So he found the first creature to hand that needed him.

Luke.

_And Obi-Wan will mould himself once more to be whatever Luke Kryze needs._

And that might very well tear away the last of what Obi-Wan had.

While Satine and Obi-Wan had built their love to have a very long leash, she had always known it might cave in, yanking them both out of their lives of choice and into something unchosen and desperate.

_If one of us ceased being a whole person._

It would throw off their gravity, and the other would step in to try to prevent the annihilation of the other.

Sure enough.

_It could easily have been me._

Not now, of course, not given the current circumstances. But if the universe had measured Satine Kryze and then systematically taken the most knowledgeable of steps to break her?

_He would have been the one to come to my side, to hold me up._

_But here we are._

Time for strategy.

If one of them curved to meet the other, neither would survive the resulting fire unless a battleplan was crafted by the one  _not_ bleeding their soul's guts all over the furniture.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan awoke feeling a measure less hopeless. His eyes cracked open, sore and slow, and the sight that met them was one that he'd thought he'd never see again.

Satine Kryze, leaning over a table covered in small figures, charts, maps—

Satine Kryze, planning for war.

It soothed a part of his soul that had been unsettled ever since she chose pacifism, and at the same time alarmed him into a fully awakened state.

“Hello,” he croaked.

Satine didn't glance up. Instead, only the corner of her lips curled into a focused smile, and she murmured in response, “Hello.”

Obi-Wan sat up, sending a quick glance to make sure Luke slept on, safe. Then he slid off the bed, stumbled a step, and worked his way over to Satine's table.

_What did I do to her?_

Fear whispered in his throat.

It took a long moment of looking down at the figurines and charts to realize. And then his shoulders sagged in relief and he sank into a chair, hands shaking, just a bit. “You are preparing for a political battle.”  _Not one of blood._

“There are elements from both the Clone War and Death Watch thrown in; not all reactions remain in a political field.”

And as Obi-Wan took in the scope of what she was doing, he realized his initial assessment had been wrong.

She wasn't planning a battle.

She was planning a fripping  _campaign._

“What is the objective?” he asked, feeling overwhelmed.

“Currently, survival.” Satine nudged one of the pieces and scribbled a note down. “But you know me: that has never  _alone_ been enough for me.”

Obi-Wan managed a wan smile.  _If it had been, you would still be in hiding, exiled and powerless, instead of building colleges, funding medical sciences, and teaching children born for war they have options other than violence._

If Satine Kryze had aimed her sights not on the betterment of Mandalore's future generations, and had instead craved conquest of a more traditional nature, storming worlds and armies...

_We would all be speaking Mando'a now._ _No past tense, no future tense, just present and blood._

Obi-Wan leaned forward. “What do we have?”

“Currently? The destruction of the Neutral Systems, which in turn leaves each of those systems open to conquest, which in turn completely upturns the ecosystem of the Clone War.”

Obi-Wan's mind reeled, and he clutched at the arms of the chair.

Currently, the Neutral Systems could enforce their neutrality. There were enough worlds with enough clout with big enough planetary defense fleets to back one another up. So far, neither Republic nor CIS had found the nerve to storm in with an army.

But if the Neutral Systems were unable to protect one another, each would fall. The people who had decided to risk it all to keep away from the violence might lose  _everything._

And so much of that was what Obi-Wan had been fighting to  _protect,_ whether they despised him for it or not.

“The dominoes go back to where?” he rasped. “Don't hide it from me.”

She looked up at last, her expression calm. “Obi, the days ahead will be terrible. But I am not done strategizing yet.”

“ _Tell me._ ” His mind wouldn't work for him right now, it was too fragmented and murky. A very young Satine had taught him war, and he had learned his lessons well, but he couldn't implement them now.

That very helplessness frightened him. He'd always been able to rely on his mind.

“The public learns of a child. Either easily, or through months of stalking by paparazzi. The tabloid reporters begin to dig to discover the father until they decide it's you, or they run a blood test that from your statements, I do not believe we can afford. To choose our battleground instead, I can simply give them no reason to doubt it's you.”

So far, Obi-Wan followed. That first step made sense, even to his wounded mind.

“Now for reaction. The age of the child places his conception during wartime, so the Council of Neutral Systems will institute an inquiry into my fitness to lead the Council, and another to determine if Mandalore is a fit member world of the Neutral Systems. The inquiry on my behalf  _will not_ result in me being allowed to remain the head of the Council. Either I step down; or I am asked to step down. Depending on how clever Pre Vizsla is— and he's not very, with the politics, so he might miss the opportunity completely— Mandalore may fail the review as well. All it would take would be a few appearances being made.”

Obi-Wan was trembling. He didn't bother trying to stop.

“The internal power struggles of the Neutral Systems will add to the polarization that will spring up around my stepping down. Some of the delegates will choose friendship over politics; others will claim that the requested step down is because I am a woman, and if I were  _Duke_ of Mandalore with a Jedi mistress and had custody of the child, I would be reprimanded but not required to step down. In the heat of it, the Representative from Tilar will say something that can be construed as either belittling of women in general, or of mothers' ability to lead. And the Senator from Ruthir has long coveted my position, so he will maneuver to pit them all against one another while ingratiating himself with as many as possible.”

Obi-Wan could see it now. The devolving into several camps, each for different reasons, all bitterly pitted against one another.

“I have not given up on the neutral Systems yet,” Satine continued. “But none of the obvious strategies are having much effect. They remain shrouded in naive hopes. So I am now beginning to explore the less obvious tactics.”

Obi-Wan could barely find voice to speak. “Such as?”

“My calling a gathering of the Council and announcing that I will be stepping down from being head of the Council, as well as stepping down from being Mandalore's representative to the Neutral Systems, because I have fallen in love with a Jedi, and he and our love child would present a conflict of interest.”

The air was gutted clear out of Obi-Wan's lungs.

“I could then put the effort that would have been placed into fighting, into putting forward a candidate for the Council leadership and a candidate for representing Mandalore in the Neutral Systems. Individuals that I trust, and therefore those who support me would be inclined to accept. As for the Duchy, Mandalore has come far in the last two decades, but I do not know if my people are ready to accept a Duchess whose heir is half Jedi.”

He couldn't say a word, he—

“If I named Korkie my heir, it would stave off some of the backlash, and if I raise Luke in a rather public— and perhaps a touch more traditional than I would usually prefer— way, it may ease fears of my rule becoming an extension of the will of the Jedi. I would start by teaching the public to see him as Lu'ika, instead of Luke. Depending on further calculations that I haven't had the chance to run just yet, I will determine whether these will simply be temporary measures so that Mandalore is not shifting into a new Representative with the Neutral Systems,  _and_ a new Duchess at the same time. We have already had major political upheaval of late; what with Governor Vizsla being revealed to be Death Watch, our Representative to the Senate a Separatist, and our Prime Minister a black marketeer allowing the poisoning of our children for profit. If my remaining Duchess seems to be temporary based on further calculations, I will seek to determine the best balance point for stepping down from being ruler of Mandalore, to try to give the transition— and the individual I choose for succession— the best odds that can be arranged.”

Obi-Wan's stomach turned over. “What have I done?” he whispered.

Satine straightened, moving around to stand before him.

If she had knelt and taken his hands to try to soothe him, he might have actually hurled.

As it was, she did not, allowing him instead to sink out of the chair and onto  _his_ knees before her.

“I do not regret my choice to take Luke in,” Satine said, “but I refuse to walk forward with my eyes closed.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “What can I do?”

“There are choices you will need to make, about how you will handle the coming days. Either you retain your position on the Jedi Council, and your commission in the GAR, or you choose something else.”

Even Obi-Wan's abdicating brain could understand the implications of  _some_ of  _that._ “If I stay where I am, the Council of Neutral Systems will demand all  _three_ shifts in Mandalore's power immediately. That you no longer lead them, that you step down from representing Mandalore  _to_ them, and that either you abdicate the throne entirely, or that Mandalore be removed from the collection of Neutral Systems. And if  _that_ happens, Mandalore will no longer have the support of those systems. There's already such a food and medicine shortage here, with the supply lanes so cut off, without the support of the Neutral Systems, Mandalore will be hit by famine, and the citizens will start dying of both hunger and preventable causes because simple medicines are no longer available.”

“Oh, I would abdicate the throne before I allowed Mandalore to be cast out of the Neutral Systems, for that reason alone.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “But do you have a replacement that your people would accept  _in sync_ with a new representative, when they haven't even grown accustomed to the new senator, governor, and a prime minister hasn't even been  _chosen_ yet?”

He felt the shudder that passed through her.

And then a hand rested gently on the top of his head.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling tears burn them.

_Please, no more innocent people dying for me._

But that could only happen if he worked with her to  _think._

_What could possibly prevent some of these things before they become issues?_

“What if I publicly denounce the war effort, and resign both my military commission and my High Council seat, and move here? But no, so long as I am Jedi, that would only make the situation worse. The assumption I was here to keep an eye on you, to keep you in line, or to frighten any opposition to you into silence... there is no way Jedi Kenobi can be of service here.”

Satine's thumb gently brushed over his hair.

Between her calm, and the act of kneeling, some of Obi-Wan's brain seemed to rouse to function, turning pieces around and over, trying to see how they could fit together...

With the fewest deaths possible.

“If I did those things, and then—” his voice faltered, but he drove himself through it— “severed myself from the Order, came to Mandalore, knelt at your feet, and clothed myself in Mandalorian armor. The Council of Neutral Systems might be convinced that you changed my mind. It would be a publicity boost for them, perhaps convince more systems to drop out of the war. Instead of throwing you out, they might prefer to have me stand beside your chair during gatherings.”

Satine's hand stilled, then dropped to his chin, guiding his gaze up to meet hers. “A former Jedi kneeling at my feet would speak powerfully against Vizsla's claims that I am a weak ruler. But I will not ask it of you.”

“You never have,” he whispered, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist before laying his cheek against her palm. “You waited for my nature to lead me to you. It appears the time has come.”

Satine's thumb caressed his cheek near his eye. “I would have preferred it, could it have been a happier thing.”

“If I must walk into hell again, I will ensure this time I do not survive it. I will stand by your side until you fall, and then I will not leave your corpse until they make me one as well.”

A flare of heat burned in Satine's eyes and body, relieving Obi-Wan. He'd half expected the pacifistic version of his Fires of Death trapped in Female Form to argue with him, to demand he live.

Instead, she fisted her hand in his tunics, dragged him up, and kissed him with a hunger that he submitted to because he had nothing anymore...

And it would be very nice to have actually kissed her before the universe went mad.

 

* * *

 

He was precious, her Obi. He didn't have the hunger for blood that plagued every Mandalorian Satine had ever met, herself vehemently included, but at the same time he had the soul of a warrior poet.

And those words, words of death and battle and fire, called to her, resonated through a heart that fought for something more, but would ever be moved by its original lusts.

To battle. To kill. To die on a bloodied field, surrounded by the corpses of enemies she'd slain. To share one last, mad kiss with the man she loved, and to die weapons in hand, back to back.

Satine shuddered with the force of that never-happened memory, and felt Obi-Wan's forehead pressing into hers.

He was drinking in something he felt comforting, a truth that had long been obscured, something as immovable as death itself.

Satine Kryze was a killer.

And  _she_ was the woman Obi-Wan Kenobi had first fallen for. He'd loved her through these years when she determined her  _own_ fate instead of letting the dead ancestors of the past dictate it to her, but...

The Pacifist had unnerved him, much as he'd tried to hide it.

And now, when he had faced the extinction of himself and his hope, when he'd watched himself lose even his dignity, he clung to flaring hints of how she'd been born that were flickering through her chosen appearance.

Satine regained full awareness to discover her hand was settled possessively around Obi-Wan's throat. Not squeezing, not threatening, but her thumb was over his pulsepoint, which thundered, even as his eyes were glassy with content.

_I was beginning to think we'd never have a first kiss._

She leaned in, pressed another, far more chaste, kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A sniffle announced Luke was awake, and then he was crying. Hungry, no doubt.

Obi-Wan snapped back into focus, but he didn't pull himself away from Satine's hand. His eyes simply found hers, clear and requesting.

_I have never owned you._ Satine dropped her hand to her side and watched as Obi-Wan rushed back to the infant.

_Our son._ He needed food Obi-Wan could not intrinsically give him. Though...

A smile touched Satine's face.

She didn't  _like_ it when her nature asserted itself so viciously. She was never completely sure she wouldn't find someone dead on the floor at her feet afterwards. Fripping Obi-Wan's mouth with her tongue was something new.

But since she was already in a prowly mode and, now roused with bloodlust, she would be in for a long, uncomfortable let-down since she  _hadn't_ killed, Satine decided to give in just a bit to something else.

Oh, not sex. Force forbid.

That  _never_ took the edge off of her inborn need to kill, unfortunately.

Never.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was aware of the Mandalorian practice of smearing babyfood on a man's nipple for an infant to suckle off.

And he did feel just a bit badly, at having accidentally fired Satine up. He recognized the humming need in her blood, something that had horrified him in the first few months of his mission on Mandalore with Qui-Gon.

He'd been repulsed by the way she would disappear for a few hours, then return with blood on her hands and some minor injury of her own.

But somewhere along the line it had become safe. Perhaps...

Perhaps when it had been aimed at rescuing him from beings who had taught him what it meant to crave death.

Long before Anakin repeated the lesson.

So, still recovering just a bit from his first-ever kiss, he allowed Satine to hustle him out of his tunics, ensconce him in a chair, prepare the mix to the correct, infant specifications, and discovered what it felt like to have a baby suckle.

At first, it was a bit alarming and he knew his face was quite crimson.

What he found curious was that Satine didn't seem to need to  _watch,_ she just seemed to need that quiet semblance of normalcy, something her instincts connected with safety, warmth, and nurturing.

Something more positive than wholesale murder.

Through all the pain in his mind, he felt his heart melt for her, once again.

Luke ran out of food, so Obi-Wan applied some more, sensing Luke's little flares of content in the Force.

The soft suction, Luke's implicit trust, and the tiny body warm against Obi-Wan's arm— they exerted a strange, calming effect on Obi-Wan's soul. In this moment... he almost felt like he was  _enough._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Mace stared at his friend in concern. The shatterpoints simply were not the  _same_ as they had been, four days prior, when Obi-Wan left the Temple.

In fact, to Mace's perception in the Force...

Obi-Wan didn't even look like the same man.

He looked like an Obi-Wan who had been smashed to pieces, what all the shatterpoints had  _warned_ of...

He looked like a corpse walking. Or perhaps a man just slowly,  _slowly_ dying.

“I came here first as a courtesy,” Obi-Wan spoke, standing in the center of the chamber, instead of taking his customary seat. “Tonight is the fundraiser gala being thrown by the Chancellor for war refugees. I will be there. And I will say things... I will speak out against the war.”

Silence reigned as all present tried to figure out what he was saying.

“I am telling you this ahead of time, because I have valued your friendship, and your trust. Tomorrow, once news of my dissent has spread across the Republic and reporters swarm the Temple steps hoping for a glimpse, I will return to this chamber, and resign my military commission, my Council seat, and, depending on which will do the least damage to the Order, I will either walk out of here simply as a knight, or I will renounce my knighthood as well.”

The swift-indrawn breath of Shaak Ti, present by hologram, cut the stillness like a knife.

Obi-Wan looked grim, almost grief-stricken...

And dead set on it.

“Once I have resigned those two or three things, I will turn over my lightsaber, and I will walk down the Temple's steps for the last time, speaking to the reporters only to say which responsibilities I have walked away from. If you could come up with a public statement renouncing me, it would likely be for the best.”

For a long moment, no one moved.

Mace leaned forward, scanning Obi-Wan's burned and bleeding Force signature. “Obi-Wan?” he murmured, almost afraid that to say anything else would either shatter the man standing before them or send him fleeing.

The wounded soul didn't manage to meet Mace's gaze. Instead, those troubled eyes remained fixed toward some invisible point beyond Mace's shoulder.

“Is there anything we can say to change your mind, if not for all of those resignations, then for even one of them?”

That shook Obi-Wan out of his braced state. His eyes met Mace's, even if for only a brief glimpse, and a self-deprecating chuckle escaped him. “ _Any_ one of those things? I doubt I would be of much use on the Council without my knighthood.”

“On the contrary,” Eeth spoke up, “it was the  _man_ Obi-Wan Kenobi that we welcomed into our midst and wanted. Not a title.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You don't understand. I need to distance myself, very publicly, from  _all_ of this. I have to make it appear I burned all my bridges.”

“You going to tell us why?” Adi asked, as concerned as the rest of them, but grimly pragmatic all the same. Her voice kept its level music, but Mace could sense her concern for the boy she had known well, even when he was but a child and she, Qui-Gon's best friend.

“I have fathered a child with the Duchess of Mandalore.”

Alright,  _that_ surprised Mace. Not the implied sex with the Lady Kryze, but that Obi-Wan would have disregarded the careful sex-ed training all padawans received.

Jedi took contraception  _very_ seriously.

But Obi-Wan didn't carry the suppressed jubilation that a  _planned_ baby would presumably have lit him up with. He looked like he was  _losing_ something, instead of gaining the love of his life and a family.

Jedi would leave the Order for love; it was just something that  _happened_ if they wanted to swear an oath to their love, or ensure their time was more at the disposal of their love, or if they wanted a child together.

But when a Jedi approached the Council to announce a release from their vows to be able to swear their loyalty to something else, equally consuming...

They never looked like they were throwing themselves on hand grenades. They very nearly glowed. Hell, even when Dooku chose to leave, he hadn't looked like Obi-Wan. He'd been soul-wounded and tired, and he walked away looking relieved that the universe no longer weighed on his shoulders, and none of them had begrudged him that rest from his labors...

But  _Obi-Wan..._

Looked under  _duress._

“Obi-Wan,” Mace began, feeling wary. Something was wrong here,  _very_ wrong. “You don't seem particularly pleased.”

Obi-Wan refused to look at him. “My loyalty lies with my son, first and foremost, and with his planet and his people second. Mandalore will suffer for his parentage, if I am still involved with either the war, or the Order.”

“Obi-Wan, did you not want this child?” Shaak Ti asked, so perceptive.

A sudden thought struck Mace. “Oh. Korkie Kryze.”

Obi-Wan's face turned incredulous. “Why does everyone  _think_ that?”

“Because I  _know_ you, and you're not the sort of man to assume that contraception is the woman's responsibility. So if you chose to have PIV sex without protection, it had to have been when you were still a teenager, before you fully  _believed_ you could have sex  _without_ vaginal insertion, if you didn't have a way to prevent conception at the time. That both you and she and any potential offspring  _deserved_ such measures.”

Obi-Wan looked shocked. “Luke is a  _baby,_ born just days ago.”

_Now I_ know _something's funny._ “Your right to self-determination will be respected, Obi-Wan. Just tell me this: are you under duress?”

It took him far too long to answer.

_Yes._ It made Mace's gut flip over.

“I have fought until I cannot endure giving more. Whoever wins this war, I cannot bear to face that end. I have no hope. So I will leave, I will do what it takes to be allowed to spend my last days with the woman I fell in love with long ago, and with our son.”

It was like watching the death of a star, or the last flower of its kind.

The death of such a beautiful light's hope.

The light remained.

But wonder, the joy of life, the resilience to rise again after every blow dealt—

Gone.

Mace felt his heart break. He'd seen something so terribly similar in Depa.

“If your refuge will allow it, keep your knighthood. You earned it, Obi-Wan. We release you from your oath to this Council, and from your oath to the Republic.”

Obi-Wan swayed, as if a terrible wind had swept through him and carried out his heart. “Thank you, my masters. May the Force comfort you in the days ahead.”

He bowed, turned to leave—

“And you, my friend,” Mace replied, voice just a bit hoarse from his grief.

Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. “There is no comfort for me, anymore. All anyone can hope for is to die well.”

And then he was gone, and pain and silence fell over the Council tower.

 

* * *

 

Anakin couldn't  _believe_ what Obi-Wan had said at the party.

He'd missed the first half of it, his attention focused entirely on Senator Amidala, a little apart from the festivities.

Padmé had noticed something first, the shock on her face alerting Anakin.

He'd witnessed the last of it, and since then, he'd seen the beginning again and again on every giant screen from the party back to the Temple. Even  _Anakin_ couldn't drive fast enough to escape the billboards.

He reached home, heart in his throat, and scurried to Obi-Wan's room, slicing himself in and dropping onto the bed. He'd lost Obi-Wan at the party, but Obi-Wan  _had_ to return here eventually.

It was lying there, on the low sleep couch, that Anakin realized there was something wrong with the small room that belonged to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The shelves were bare.

Qui-Gon's tiny tree, which used to live in the fake window, was gone.

A small satchel on the floor held a couple pictures in their frames, a few holostatues—

_He's leaving,_ Anakin realized in fear. Not for another long campaign, but for  _good._

Obi-Wan walked in, not long after. He jumped, looked like finding Anakin sitting on his bed had nearly given him a heart attack.

Anakin simply twisted his fingers in his lap and stared at him.

“What's happening?” he asked at last.

Obi-Wan didn't venture into the room. “I'm leaving.”

Anakin tried to swallow, found it hurt too much. “Where are you going?”

“To Satine.”

“I thought we were going to keep that a secret.” Why, oh,  _why_ couldn't Obi-Wan keep a level head? He  _always_ did, except  _now,_ when he needed it most.

Obi-Wan looked braced for injury. “ _You_ decided that. I decided I wasn't going to let Luke grow up without me.”

“There'll be time for that.  _After_ the war,” Anakin prodded. If Obi-Wan really believed the war to be pointless and  _wrong,_ he needed to repeat it to Anakin's face. Otherwise, it was some unfathomable Council stunt.

“There won't be, for me. For me, the war is over.”

“You can't just leave your men like that! What about Cody?”

Obi-Wan recoiled as if he'd been slapped. “ _Cody_ ,” he barked out, a strange, heartbroken laugh that made Anakin shudder. “If they want to  _murder_ my fa— they can do it by  _themselves._ I'm done. I'm not going to beg for mercy this time.”

“You're doing all this because of a  _vision_ ?” Anakin blurted, disbelieving.

“Have you  _never_ done anything outrageous to try to stave off a vision?” Obi-Wan snapped in return.

Anakin frowned. “Okay, but we should be  _fighting,_ Obi-Wan. Not giving up.”

“I  _did that!_ I fought until I was the  _last one standing,_ and I  _kept on._ But I  _didn't_ sign up to lose everything I love  _more than once!_ So  _forgive me_ if I fripping say  _no_ this time. I'm done. Get out of my room so I can sleep.”

And Anakin did, because he could still remember, so fresh, Obi-Wan clawing at the floor to escape him, and because this Obi-Wan, now, was trembling and looked close to the verge of madness again.

 

* * *

 

It was painful, borderline on cruel, as Obi-Wan walked down the Temple steps with curious reporters swarming around him.

It was both easier and more painful when a similar reception happened at the doors to Satine's palace.

He walked in, straight past the people who were there, for whatever reason that morning, and dropped to his knees before Satine, who looked regal as a goddess on her throne.

And then, it was done.

 

* * *

 

The holofeeds were full of it, abandoning most everything else to gossip about Obi-Wan.

It killed Anakin to see. He  _hated_ it.

The open speculation, sometimes ribald in its invasiveness, the gloating and bemoaning and—

_Enough!_

Except the public didn't think so. As if it had  _anything_ to do with them.

Everyone wanted a glimpse of Obi-Wan, now that he was a civilian, but he seemed to have disappeared into Satine's palace, and only rare glimpses were ever caught of him.

And even fewer of Luke.

Satine Kryze was facing a karkstorm that Anakin only understood a  _tenth_ of the politics of, but Anakin  _was_ able to see that none of it was instigated by the Council.

It made Anakin angry. Obi-Wan had decided to leave... for... love, Anakin decided, but for some reason, people in authority were determined to  _destroy_ both Obi-Wan's reputation,  _and_ Satine's career. And Anakin couldn't even fathom why they'd  _care._

Satine was obviously good at what she did, and Obi-Wan had worked harder than anybody. If  _anyone_ deserved a break, it was him.

As if he hadn't already bled and suffered and nearly died for the Republic more times than Anakin could count. None of that had been obligatory, he'd  _chosen_ to fight for people who now reviled him though they hadn't so much as raised a pinky finger to protect  _themselves._ Entitled, useless, worthless—

_I hope he's alright._

Anakin had been afraid to try too hard to make contact.  _What if I—?_

He still didn't know what he'd done in the first place to trigger Obi-Wan into such terrifying flights of desperation.

_I'm just going to stay away for now._

Hell. Ahsoka hadn't called since she left. And she  _hadn't_ seen visions of dire future trauma.

Maybe Anakin was just someone to  _run_ from.

Maybe Padmé would run next.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan kept dreading the day when Satine would tell him that being a stay-at-home dad wasn't acceptable. That he had to find something to  _do_ with his life.

It would be difficult to argue, of course, since she was funding their survival. And housing them. And clothing them.

But every moment in Luke's presence, watching over him, meant Obi-Wan could  _breathe._ Whenever he tried to stray too far away, his lungs would close up, his rib cage caved in, and visions of hell returned.

He saw corpses wherever he walked, he smelled smoke and blood, heard screams.

He was learning to walk in such a way as to not allow the average passerby to realize it, but Obi-Wan didn't much  _want_ to leave the rooms where there was quiet, except for Luke's noises, or Obi-Wan's voice when he spoke to the baby that kept him alive.

It was very difficult to see a point to  _anything,_ except Luke's wellbeing.

Luke had survived once.

Maybe he could survive again.

Obi-Wan would scratch and claw to his last fingernail to make it so.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Satine remained Duchess. For now.

She did  _not_ remain Mandalore's representative to the Neutral Systems, and she  _certainly_ was no longer head of the Council of said Systems.

And all of her past decisions for the Neutral Systems were being reevaluated under a microscope. Some of those decisions might even get overturned due to a conflict of interest she hadn't had at the time...

But now it would be assumed she'd  _had._

Mandalore was fractured enough that Satine couldn't quite determine how it would go, her calculations and strategies shifting day to day as the situation changed.

They might be cast out and homeless by the end of the month, with Satine declared dar'manda by  _everyone_ instead of just Death Watch.

Of course...

Now, Death Watch wasn't the only militant group attacking soft targets.

Satine might be a pacifist, but she turned vicious when people bombed her hospitals.

Very vicious.

 

* * *

 

Satine's life was unraveling around them, and her people, whom she loved so dearly, seemed poised on the brink of losing all the progress they'd made in the last two decades.

Obi-Wan had seen it happen before, of course. Only... it had happened  _after_ her death. 

Her people had turned her over to Death Watch, had accepted the destruction of the universities, had dragged their children out of school to teach them to kill.

Again.

At the time, Obi-Wan had almost felt glad Satine hadn't had to witness it. The proof that sometimes, sentients didn't  _want_ to treat one another with decency, even if the opportunity were handed to them on a platter.

Some sentients just wanted to kill.

And those of Mandalorian blood who had wanted anything  _other_ than that had been weeded out generations ago. 

_How do you believe in them, after everything?_ Obi-Wan wondered. There was a resilience and a refusal to give up hope within Satine that bewildered him. They had shown only the  _slightest_ signs of the capacity for decency, and Satine had fought for it with everything she was.

_Some day, would it not be time to just give up on them? Let them slaughter one another, Mandalorian against Mandalorian, because that's all they want? Let the old clan rivalries return, let Mandalore be bathed in blood not of invaders, but of her own children._

Because Force forbid a Mandalorian  _ever_ do something they didn't  _want_ to do.

Ever.

And restraint from murder...

Why? If the opponent was weaker, couldn't fend them off...

The Mandalorians and the Sith had been a match made  _somewhere._ Blood and money— somehow, the Mandalorians of old had perceived the union of the two to mean glory.

And glory was worth  _everything._ Even the abandonment of one's own kin.

Obi-Wan had left Mandalore with his master twenty years ago, with no faith that Satine could actually  _build_ something here.

And yet she had. There was one generation, one  _precious_ generation of Mandalorians who didn't have an innate  _need_ to murder fellow sentients.  _One_ generation without programmed bloodlust.

One generation that actually had a chance at a childhood, instead of fear of death, and who were allowed to choose what they wanted to do with their lives instead of being locked into a cycle of  _Born-Kryzes-Must-Kill-Born-Eldars_ because some time in the murky ancient past, an Eldar had stolen a Kryze's herd animal, with the reprisals back and forth escalating through the generations.

One generation of dreams and hope, invention and science, exploration and teamwork, hope and  _life._

It looked like there would not be another.

But Satine had not yet given up hope.

Obi-Wan just waited for the day when armored beings swarmed the rooms wanting to kill Luke.

On that day, Obi-Wan  _would_ kill Satine's people. As many of them as he could before they took him down, because Luke would  _live._

Her people  _had_ their chance.

They continued to spit in its face.

Obi-Wan's patience only held out for so long.

 

* * *

 

Anakin commanded both 501 st and 212 th .

The 501 st was certainly subdued...

But Anakin had never sensed anything quite like the loss and fear the 212 th daily experienced. They grieved their General Kenobi; they feared for his life, continuing on so far out of their reach to protect him; and, worst of all... they wondered why he had feared  _them._

So much that he would run away and never come back.

Anakin had no answers for them, and they didn't ask him for any.

They'd seen Obi-Wan's terror extended to his brother as well.

 

* * *

 

The day came when everything changed  _again._

_Gangsters_ attacked Mandalore. Pikes, Black Sun, the Hutts—  _everyone_ converged on Mandalore at once.

Obi-Wan hadn't been aware of it last time it happened, but he'd found out about it after...

After Satine fell a charred corpse to a glass floor.

Something snapped within Obi-Wan, and in that moment, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing...

Except that he was  _acting._

He found Satine in full Warrior-Duchess mode, and she willingly strapped Luke to her back as she continued her calculations. Obi-Wan placed a sleep suggestion over the baby to make sure he wouldn't distract his mother.

“We currently have nothing they want, this is a terrible waste of their money. And crime syndicates this big  _don't_ waste money,” Satine growled. “So someone's put them up to it. And if Death Watch comes in, aids the overwhelmed police and returns order, that would give them  _serious—_ ”

Obi-Wan couldn't wait. “You're right.”

“But Vizsla isn't smart enough to come up with this on his own, and my sister is too impetuous. And it would have required forcing the syndicates to comply—”

“Maul. It's Maul. I don't think he's here yet, but I'm going to the docks.”

Satine arched an eyebrow at him. “You cannot clear them all before Vizsla steps in to be the hero, bringing peace to a conflict he controlled.”

Obi-Wan froze, staring at her in stunned silence.  _Oh, oh Force..._ “Maul learned from Sidious. Of course he used the  _plan._ He created his own mini Clone War, leading to the  _same—_ ”

“Love?” Satine snapped. “Focus.”

“No, I can't clear them all in time. But I can't  _stay here._ I have to fight. I have to go—”

“How about  _instead,_ you take out the head of the serpent. Help me discover where Maul would choose to arrive. You let Death Watch take out the gangsters while you take out Maul. Without Maul feeding Vizsla speeches and strategy, Pre won't be able to use this board arrangement to his full benefit. He kills things, he doesn't build grand, sweeping plots.”

Obi-Wan's lip curled in a snarl. “Leave the plotting to Sith.”

“We almost always have, dear. Now focus: what is Maul's intention in taking Mandalore?”

Obi-Wan's knees wanted to give out, but he refused to go down. He braced himself— looking just a tad ungraceful— and forced his jaw to open enough to speak. “To kill you, destroy everything you've worked to build, and to claim your throne as his.”

“Why?”

“To hurt me. The army he will receive is simply a side bonus.”

“If he wants Mandalore to submit to him, he will not be able to rule openly. We might take money and orders from a Sith, but we would never swear allegiance to one. So he'll keep Vizsla in charge, which means he needs to arrive at a dock under his control, but  _not_ one with high visibility. And the only ship to get in past our gangsters' blockade would be  _noticed._ ”

Satine tapped buttons, drawing up a condensed map of all of the docking areas for Sundari. “Access to the Palace... discrete... gang-controlled. Obi, you see this?”

“Yes.”

He did.

While there were three viable options, one was by leaps and bounds the  _best._

“Forcespeed, my love,” Satine murmured.

A blaster at his thigh, his lightsaber far away in a home that would never be his again, Obi-Wan Kenobi strode out.

_Savage will be with him._

For the first time since surviving his awful journey back, Obi-Wan wished Anakin were  _here._

 

* * *

 

He... didn't quite make it, that confrontation on the docks.

Maul dragged him back to the palace by the nape of his neck and threw him at Satine's feet.

She merely looked at Obi-Wan and sighed. “You fought them with the skillset you possessed thirteen years ago. You're not a padawan anymore.”

“Mm,” Maul scoffed. “You think he can save you? I do beg pardon, Duchess, but I think you'll find he is weak, and was never deserving of Mandalorian love.”

Satine uncrossed her legs where she sat on her throne and leaned forward, posture switching from graceful lady to warrior-king. “Your purpose, here?”

“It is very simple, and very personal.  _That—_ ” he pointed at Obi-Wan, who was trying to get his arms and legs back underneath himself, blood drooling out his mouth.

The green one— Savage, then— kicked him in the side, sending him back to square one with his attempt.

Satine knew Obi-Wan had more left in him.  _He_ didn't realize it, and clearly Maul and his brother didn't, but Satine had seen him fight for his life, and for Qui-Gon's, after he'd been brutally beaten.

The wildcat, scrawny and desperate, hadn't made an appearance yet. The creature that had nothing left but claws and teeth and fought with them anyway, a fire in his eye that baited death and shoved it down his abusers' throats.

Luke remained asleep, strapped to Satine's back.

“ _Kenobi_ deprived me of my legs and my place of destiny, and left me to burn for  _thirteen years_ in the refuse and acid of a world that makes even Mandalore look luscious. I seek revenge. As a Mandalorian, you can understand what that entails: parting his loved ones from him. Permanently. I will accept the mother of his child and his son as my due.”

He spoke so courteously.

Too bad all of Satine's uneasily-dormant instincts were awake, and to them, politeness was worth only contempt.

It was one of the wonders of the universe that she'd fallen in love with a silver-tongued man.

Satine stood, drawing herself to her full height. “You intend to kill both myself and my son, right here and now?”

“I do believe that was implied, yes,” Maul purred.

Obi-Wan had never quite  _mentioned_ that the Sith Lord possessed a voice that could charm even the most—

But that mattered not, since Satine now had what she needed.

She took two steps down her dais, chin up, posture undaunted. Maul looked both surprised, and respectful of it. “I assume you know I am a pacifist.”

“ _Satine,_ ” Obi-Wan pled, trying to rise again, only to have Savage's foot planted on his back and crushing him down, making Obi-Wan's elbows buckle and his legs flatten, and still Savage pressed, threatening to destroy his spine if he so much as flinched.

Satine, certainly, did not flinch. “Even in the most extreme of circumstances, I try to avoid sentient death, because I find it barbaric.” She took another step down.

“Are you attempting to beg for your life?” Maul asked, clearly amused, “Because your dignity is hindering the message, my dear.” He ignited his crimson lightsaber— only a single crystal, unlike the two he'd had long ago— “Any last words for your disgraced Knight? A plea for help, perhaps? Tears?” His feet shifted, and the muscles across his shoulders tightened, preparing for something. Satine knew exactly  _what._ “I should be very appreciative if you would grant Kenobi a precious, soul-scorching scream to warm him through the coming years— but it is not necessary.”

The saber launched towards her, thrown at a speed that would have impaled a being who hadn't realized it would be thrown.

But Satine knew how to read a warrior's body, the way muscles telegraphed a movement before it was made.

She pivoted, and the crimson blade passed by as her hand snapped up and caught the hilt.

Already on the move, she slammed the side of the blade through the knee of the leg holding down Obi-Wan, and tucked the hilt of the still-ignited saber into Obi-Wan's hand as she leaped, knowing Maul would be  _there—_

She knew he would have moved almost as quickly as she, would be right on top of her—

Spinning like a cat in midair she landed on all fours, lip peeled back in a snarl, baby still unconscious in the infant-pack on her back.

Sure enough, Maul had gone for the woman launching to maim his brother, and Satine's eyes were the only ones  _not_ shocked as she took in the sight of Obi-Wan, still lying on the floor— just on his back, now— with the saber up and impaling Maul's chest where Maul had lunged to tackle the woman who simply wasn't  _there_ anymore.

Maul's eyes went dark and his corpse sank, with Obi-Wan sliding sideways with a truly impressive writhe to keep from having it land on top of him.

Savage lay on the floor, panting, eyes huge. “Brother,” he rasped.

Obi-Wan crouched at the foot of the dais, looking terrified.

“Easy, Darling,” Satine soothed, but his gaze didn't for a moment leave Savage. “Saber, Obi.”

Obi-Wan's hand snapped out, yanking Savage's staff away from him with the Force, and snapping his fingers closed, crushing the delicate internal mechanisms and dropping a useless twist of metal to the floor, the crystals falling out of it.

Obi-Wan paused again, looking bewildered.

Satine knew why, but she also had no time for it just  _now._ “Sleep suggestion, perhaps?”

Obi-Wan cast it without moving a muscle, and Savage slumped over, unconscious.

“Satine?” Obi-Wan asked, voice raw and tremulous.

Satine strode over to him, making a wide berth around Maul. She gently took the saber from her knight's hand, Obi-Wan still shuddering with shock.

She flicked the blade across the corpse's neck, severing the head entirely.

“ _Satine_ !” Obi-Wan yelped, sounding  _horrified,_ sounding like the teen he'd been when he'd first seen her gut a man. 

Back in the days when it was Obi-Wan who felt ill about  _Satine_ going too far, instead of the other way around.

“You cannot murder a corpse,” Satine explained, without reaching out to touch Obi-Wan. Not yet. She'd just brutally reminded him that Mandalorians had made it a status-granting hobby to slay Force-sensitives who could anticipate intention to harm. “Considering he came back once already, it seems wise to just be a little  _extra_ certain about the funeral arrangements. I suggest a pyre.”

He was trembling still, but his gaze was locked on her now. “Y— wh—  _Sa—?_ You  _cut off a limb._ ”

“I did not kill Savage; I only resorted to violence once it became clear he planned to murder a baby in my presence; and I  _certainly_ warned him.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “ _Warned_ ?”

“I reminded them I was a pacifist. On Mandalore.”

“I don't understand.” Obi-Wan's legs dumped him to sit on the stair of the dais.

Satine smiled and signaled her guards to return,  _with_ Force-suppressors. There was a button specifically dedicated to the purpose on her wristband. “I fought the assassin droids back-to-back with you only a year ago, love. Have you forgotten already that while I do not aggress, I  _do_ defend myself? Any pacifist on Mandalore would have been  _dead_ , not ruling, if they were not of my caliber. It was a simple step in logic, which neither of them made.”

Satine's guard made short work of securing the prisoner, and disengaged and removed the metal arm while they were at it.

Even a Sith would find it difficult to break out while missing an arm, a leg, and the Force.

Only with Savage no longer in the room did Satine reach out to touch her knight. He flinched at the brush of her hand against his shoulder, and then he turned to her, eyes filling with tears, and collapsed forward into her embrace, sobbing into her neck.

And in the emptiness of the throne room, Satine held him close and let him cry.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Satine takes this story entirely out of my hands and blithely scraps my outline.
> 
> I can't even bring myself to be grumpy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: A rather brutal fist fight/sword fight, since someone reminded me that Pre Vizsla isn't dead in this AU.

 

“...while your  _Duchess_ has sat on a throne and done nothing. We have been outcast, and resented, and  _hated_ for so long, simply for being  _Mandalorians._ If you insist, we will return to exile, but only if  _you,_ the  _people of Mandalore,_ insist!”

The speech had Maul's fingerprints all over it. Vizsla would never have been able to come up with such a beautifully honed and aimed weapon.

And  _oh,_ were Satine's people responding.

_Forgetting about the civilian targets Death Watch has bombed._

Satine stood on the announcement balcony, looking out over a sea of thousands gathered to listen. Vizsla, Bo, and several others hovered out of reach and regal, Vizsla's helmet off, his affect that of the abused and humble hero.

Unfortunately, though Obi-Wan  _had_ pulled it together and gone out to help, the problem had already begun to resolve itself.

News of Maul's death had broken the chain holding the gangsters in place. Those who hadn't already been “defeated,” just plain  _left._

It would be difficult to prove to the citizens, though. Too difficult.

No, it looked like Death Watch had scared away the invaders.

“And who killed the man responsible for this invasion?” Pre demanded. “Was it  _our Mand'alor_ ? Or was it her pathetic Jedi  _lapdog?_ ”  


Obi-Wan, standing back and to the side of Satine, didn't budge.

“Tell me, Pre.” Satine took a step forward, placed her hands on the railing. “The darksaber.”

A hush fell across the crowd, not a whisper to be heard.

“Did you earn the right to carry it, or did it simply fall into your possession when your father died of disease?”

“I wield the darksaber because there is no one else worthy enough to take up the cause of my people, to  _fight for them._ ”

Satine shrugged, allowing disdain to twist her lip. “I find that unlikely. I suppose the hospitals you've attacked, and the shrine of remembrance, commemorating all Mandalorian warriors of the past, was meant to...  _honor_ our people.”

“You are a plague. You have made Mandalore appear weak, and  _that_ is why we are being attacked.”

“And when it's _you_ bombing Mandalorian citizens? Then it's just... _acceptable_? You have carried on as you willed, Pre Vizsla, without a care for how Mandalore fares. How many Mandalorians have died of dysentery, since my reign began? Cholera? Malaria? What of the children too slow or weak to fight? In the past, those _citizens of Mandalore_ had few options except being left behind and scorned as worthless. Now they can become doctors, scientists, artists, _whatever they desire,_ they can become as great as a fervent, Mandalorian heart can dream. We nearly died of extinction, not from an external enemy, but because of ripping one another apart— Mando'ad against Mando'ad, crippling _our own_ chances of greatness. Our children can now _play_ in our streets, without having to fear a landmine ripping away one of their legs. Some of our worlds have not yet been shattered or sterilized by the effects of war— _some are still green._ Do you wish us to reenter the shadow, throw away all we've gained?”

“We do not need  _weakness_ in our chief place of power,” Vizsla shot back. “We need  _strength_ ! You did not kill the last possessor of the darksaber; you simply stepped into power.”

_I see where this is going._

Obi-Wan took a half-step forward, undoubtedly realizing it too.

“Funnily enough, I was elected,” Satine replied, tone cool. “It's where the citizens choose a leader for themselves, instead of being led like nerfs.”

“I  _challenge you,_ Satine Clan Kryze, for the right to the throne. For the darksaber. For  _Mandalore._ ”

Trouble.

_I must decide now, whether I will merely defeat, or kill him._

To hesitate once the opportunity presented itself, to consider the question? Decisiveness was what was needing to be seen here. Either she decisively spared, or she decisively killed.

“I will accept the challenge, on Clan Kryze's behalf,” Obi-Wan announced.

_Oh, Manda._

“ _See_ ?” Vizsla crowed. “She fears to face me! She would send her  _friptoy_ to fight for Mandalore's  _honor_ !”

_Yeah._ Satine turned to Obi-Wan, her lips thinned. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in her silent, absolute  _no._

_Yes. I have allowed you to be your own man, here. But this concerns not just a ritual display of violence to protect the standing of our son, this determines whether my worlds devolve into chaos, a chaos it took us thousands of years longer to escape than any of our galactic neighbors._

Lu'ika sniffled, undoubtedly sensing the coldness spilling through his mother's veins.

_I am sorry, love,_ she thought to the infant strapped to her back.  _But I dragged my people out of the abyss once, and I will keep doing it until they begin to fly on their own, or until I have drawn my last breath._

“I deny your request,” Satine said, staring Obi-Wan in the eye. His fist clenched, but he held still. She turned back to the expectant, turbulent mob. “People of Mandalore, what makes the best ruler? The strongest arm? The craftiest mind? A heart that values  _every_ Mandalorian, not merely those of  _certain clans,_ and of those clans, only  _certain individuals_ who follow a certain path? What Pre Vizsla holds against me is hardly my weakness. It is my  _difference._ I dare to say that a Mandalorian should define themself. That violence and death against people  _of our own blood,_ our  _kin_ , should be the unusual, not the norm. So tell me, Mandalore: Do you remember what creatures have always, and  _will_ always allow the killing of a king to define who next should lead, instead of seizing their own destinies and using their minds to choose? Animals. The beta who kills an alpha and takes his place. Do you wish to return to being animals, Mandalore?” she thundered down at them, furious now.

Obi-Wan was about ready to give up on her people entirely. He felt they'd been given chance after chance to change, to become something more, and they dragged their feet the whole way, and longed to return to rolling in feces and teaching their toddlers to kill.

She already knew what answer her angry mob would send back.

The lust to kill, for blood was fired up in their veins, aroused and it would not be lulled to sleep without something drastic to shake them out of it.

Lu'ika burst into tears, perhaps horrified by the malicious intent, that thirst to deprive other beings of life.

_I will_ not  _raise my son on a world divided._

She would end this.

So as mando'a screamed back at her from below, a chant that didn't quite unify itself, but swelled and wrenched back and forth, all of it demanding blood...

Satine unstrapped Lu'ika and handed him into Obi-Wan's arms.

_I am sorry, my loves. They need a reminder._

Curbing back the roaring jaws of her own instinct, the need to kill that she'd held at bay for nearly two decades, she hid it away to allow no warning of what would come and replied:

“I accept.”

 

* * *

 

He was allowed to accompany her, to prepare.

“Satine, please.” Obi-Wan felt shaken, felt like he was watching a spiraling inevitability.

_Maul did not kill her, and time must heal itself._

_So a mere hours later..._

_It will be Vizsla._

But how much  _worse,_ for it to be accompanied with Satine violating her own ethical self?

“It is not against  _my_ creed,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “And a substitute is allowed, by the ancient traditions.”

Satine lifted the lid of an old chest, one that had not been opened in so many,  _many_ years. “This is no longer about what is allowed. This is about a mob, wanting to break down our door, plunge our people back into war, and to rip those not deemed  _Mandalorian enough_ apart, starting with you and Lu'ika.”

“Satine, it has been a long time. What if he kills you?”  
She did not look up, instead pulling the beskar'gam from the chest. “It is possible.”

“Don't ask me to survive that. Not a second time. Please. Don't make me just stand by and watch. Please... don't take your code and smash it just to protect Luke and me.”

“Lu'ika is certainly a factor. I will not deny it. He has awakened the instinct to be a mother, and everything I know of motherhood, demands I do this. I might rein it in, but my planet,  _all_ of my planet, all of those planets that make up  _Mandalore,_ it's all at stake. I adopted this code to drag us out of the mud. It worked. It is no longer working. So I will kill. That is what I am best at.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, felt a tear slip down his cheek.

He had never been comfortable with the pacifist Satine, but that life choice had been so important to her, meant so much, and—

Her hand pressed against his cheek, the leather-palmed gauntlet cool against his skin.

“This is a dark day,” she murmured, “but have faith in me.”

_I do. I have. I—_

“Whoever you are,” he rasped, forcing his eyes open again, to stare into the dark T-visor aimed for him, “whoever you make yourself, I am here. I have always been. Our ideologies started at two very different origins, and then we swapped places. I— I love you. So please... if you must do this, do it with the ruthless precision you had before. I need you to live.”

Luke, still bawling, choked down to sniffles as Obi-Wan leaned his forehead against Satine's.

He heard her sharp intake of air, her reaction to him kissing her in the way of her people.

He pulled back, and through the silent tears he couldn't seem to prevent, he checked the buckles of her plates, checked the seal of her helmet, and placed the hilt of Maul's saber in her hand.

Uneasiness stirred through Obi-Wan's bond with Anakin, so at some point, Obi-Wan's shields must have wavered, and now Anakin was growing alarmed.

Obi-Wan found he could feel nothing about it.

 

* * *

 

Satine's armor was matte, where Vizsla's gleamed in the sun.

His? Silver and blue: mourning a lost love— Mandalore as she used to be— and blue for reliability.

Hers? Black and orange.

Black for justice, orange for a lust for life... life how Mandalorians valued life. Family, sex, land, murder, food, alcohol, glory. Not necessarily in order.

Once, long ago as teenagers, the Mando and the Jedi had determined what Obi-Wan's armor would have been colored. Either green for duty, or crimson in honor of Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan's beloved mentor, his father figure.

It had been so long since he had seen his mando'ad in full beskar'gam, and it made Obi-Wan's heart ache so painfully that he could not tell if it was regret, memories of a time  _before,_ or... just what.

But she was beautiful. So painfully beautiful, in her skin of metal, and in this second life of Obi-Wan's, it would be Maul's saber that stood between her and death.

The steps back to the throne room made his feet feel like lead.

They found as many people as could fit, waiting for them, lined up around, a large clear space in the middle occupied by Vizsla alone.

“For two decades, I have ruled by persuasion,” Satine spoke up, voice regal even through the slight distortion of the helmet. “By appealing to your minds, and by your consent. With this duel, all of that changes. Your consent will no longer matter.”

Pre Vizsla scoffed, then pulled on his helmet. “Kryze? You die today.”

Obi-Wan reached over his shoulder to touch the top of Luke's head, stepped back the required distance, and waited.

Satine did not bother with a laugh, word, or any other form of posturing in reply. There was only the growl of Maul's blade, the high-pitched whine of the darksaber, and then all was hell.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was terrified. He was terrified, and waiting for his heart to utterly shatter and burn, and he felt absolutely helpless.

Because every ounce of his attention was fixed on what he thought would destroy him, he wasn't focused on shielding, and Anakin could gather a vague sense of violence, somewhere near him.

That was the second time today that something had been  _terribly_ wrong over there.

_What should I do? What would Obi-Wan do?_

Obi-Wan, when sensing Anakin in absolute danger back on Mortis, had rushed into the pit of hell to back him up.

At the time, Anakin had... betrayed him to the Son, left him writhing in agony, abandoned and alone, with Anakin intending to leave Mortis and never come back. To leave... Obi-Wan... and never come back.

Apparently a man could only face so much of that kind of treatment before he stopped being able to trust in return.

Anakin ran desperate hands through his hair.

What would  _Ahsoka_ do?

_Ahsoka_ abandoned  _us. She's not here._

_I need advice._

Maybe Palpatine could see him.

 

* * *

 

Luke was scared. He was so,  _so_ scared, and Obi-Wan felt horrible for being the cause of it, but Obi-Wan's heart raced, his hands trembled, his skin felt cold. He tried to shield from Luke, but it seemed to take all his effort simply to  _breathe,_ and he had very little left over.

Obi-Wan had defeated Vizsla in single combat with ease what felt like a lifetime ago, but in reality was a matter of under two years. Obi-Wan hadn't even bothered with using offense tactics, simply fending him off until Vizsla grew frustrated and decided to pit numbers against one lone Jedi instead of taking him out himself. The man was the  _last_ person who should be mand'alor. Not only did he not care for the wellbeing of  _all_ his people, but he was a kark-poor  _Mando._

He might be  _Mandalorian_ , but he was hardly a  _Mando._ All the fancy gadgets in the world and a unique lightsaber could not replace skill and pure hard work.

But Satine was  _rusty,_ and those glimpses of it scared the hell out of Obi-Wan. Some elements could not be forgotten, it was pure muscle memory, and she had kept her body well-honed, but it had been many years since she wielded a  _sword._

Korkie edged over to stand by Obi-Wan, the boy radiating distress, shock, fear.

“Can she do this?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off his beloved aunt.

Obi-Wan wrenched his gaze away, looked down to the distraught teenager. “Yes.”  _So please..._

_Please._

 

* * *

 

Satine wanted to curse against the song in her blood, the one that fed, eager and starved, and so willing to regain its full strength in just a moment.

As the spice-addicts would call it...

She was fully prepared to “fall off the hovercart.”

Who the frip knew what consequences there would be, to her view of herself, to her personal power, to her land and her people.

To her son.

But this was the road she had chosen, for good or for ill, and she would follow it.

So when the opportunity came through Vizsla's overbearing swordwork, she disarmed him, sending the darksaber skidding across the floor. And when he insisted on hand-to-hand, attempting to use his heavier weight and beskar'gam's gadgets against her, she decided to make even more of a point.

Except to dodge a stream of flame, she did not employ her jetpack at all, or any of the other tools at her disposal. Instead, she simply used her body, her fists, elbows, knees, and kept out of reach, refusing to allow him to square with her, to trade punches to one another's faces.

She was smaller, faster, and why the hell should she hand him  _any_ advantage on a platter?

He sure as hell didn't deserve that kind of courtesy, and she wasn't here to  _box._ She was here to  _kill._

When she took him to the floor, she dislocated his shoulder. Then broke his knee. Then wrenched off his buy'ce.

His eyes now visible, Satine could read realization and horror there.

So could others. There was a deathly silence that vibrated with meaning and tension.

Vizsla lashed out at her, still capable of killing, and desperately desiring to.

Except...

He wasn't dealing with someone just trying to survive.

He was facing someone who wanted to dismantle and brutalize and kill him, and  _now_ he  _knew it._

The strike of the edge of her handplate smashed Vizsla's face, leaving the man scrabbling at the dais steps leading to her throne. It was an ugly injury, and a cruel one. A choked, “Oh, gods,” from behind— Obi-Wan, her poor, precious jetii—

But she was not done, and oh did her blood  _sing._

Vizsla's blood painted her armor, his attempts to fight back faltered, turned to simply trying to shield his body from the battering.

Satine snapped out an arm, sent fibercord to slam around the hilt of the darksaber, dragging it to her hand.

“I don't— believe it,” Vizsla rasped, blood dripping from his lips.

Clipping Maul's saber to her hip, and pulling off her helmet so Vizsla could read her eyes, Satine ignited the darksaber.

Vizsla's blue eyes stared into hers, wide, and then resigned.

“Only the strongest— shall rule Mandalore,” he whispered.

She did not need to reply.

“Aunt,  _don't—_ ”

Korkie. Beloved Korkie, who believed in her, believed in her vision for a better Mandalore.

She did not listen.

Vizsla closed his eyes, bared his throat.

And Satine struck.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan had had to grab Korkie's shoulder to keep the boy from running to his Aunt, with the clear intent of staying her hand.

Korkie sent up a wild, disbelieving look and tried to wrench away, but Obi-Wan held tight.

And then Vizsla's head rolled at Satine's feet.

She turned around, hair in disarray around her face, eyes blazing, muted with sated bloodlust and raging with challenge, because that lust was  _far_ from overstuffed, and lifted the darksaber high, still ignited.

The room, packed with people, Death Watch and mob alike, fell silent.

“Does anyone challenge me?” Satine demanded.

No one moved.

She stepped into the space of the nearest Death Watch warrior, who, helmet off, stood staring at his dead leader.

With the voice of a military woman, Satine yelled in his face, “ _Then kneel!_ ”

The man's knees buckled, dropping him down, and the others around him did the same.

Satine turned, livid, prowling toward the other side of the room, clearly itching to have the opportunity to kill just  _one more time_ today. Every being in this room old enough to remember the days before her rule saw it,  _felt_ it,  _knew_ .

More knees bent.

Then more.

Until only one woman remained, her green eyes filled with fury, her red hair cut short by her jaw. She stared Satine in the eye, rage and shock alike emanating around her in the Force.

“I am done looking past your treason because of who you are to me,” Satine said, and she did not bother to lower her tone to make it just between the two of them. “So decide, Sister. Challenge me, or bend your knee.”

The expression of defiance faltered.

_Oh gods,_ Obi-Wan realized. This was the  _other_ sibling. The one Satine didn't talk about. Not the brother who'd died, not Korkie's father, but the  _other one._

_Please,_ his soul ached.  _Don't challenge her. Don't let Satine kill a sister today._

But the proud head bowed, and down the woman from Death Watch went.

Satine stood for a moment over her, and Obi-Wan could almost see flames licking around the Duchess, an inferno she had directed and guided and controlled and used for what her heart and mind purposed.

An inferno no longer hidden and quiet.

Korkie shuddered beneath Obi-Wan's hand, no longer trying to escape.

Obi-Wan instinctively pulled him a step closer.

Satine returned to the corpse, seized Vizsla's head by the hair, strode back out to the balcony once more, and Obi-Wan followed, needing to see what would happen.

The mob stood hushed, waiting for a victor.

Absolute shock reeled through the Force from thousands of genuinely surprised individuals.

“You were not content with a Duchess,” she thundered at them. “So I will  _be_ your mand'alor.” She tossed the severed head down to the mob, where it caved in against the pavement with no rebound, a sickening sound.

Obi-Wan sensed that roaring, thirsty hunger in Satine's veins, vicious in its delight.

She raised the darksaber over her head. “ _Kneel_ .”

The muffled thud of so  _many,_ many knees sent a shiver through Obi-Wan.

“I gave you the chance to be in control, but you did not want that freedom. You wanted to be told what to do. I will give you what you desire. You have lost your voice, and gained a mand'alor.” A terrible smirk crossed Satine's face, a sneer of fury and disgust and hauteur. “We will do things my way. You just went from me being in charge of  _most_ of your affairs, with individuals who could veto me, to me being in charge of  _all_ of your affairs. You'll have your Senator, and that's it. So pick that her wisely, because she's  _all you have left._ The corpses you brought with you? Of the officials you rounded up outside the palace and murdered already? You won't be the ones choosing who replaces them. I will run this land in the same direction that I always have, but this time, I will not tolerate your  _fripping_ mobs. Or your little terror cells. Or your blatant insubordination. Either challenge me, or  _fall in line._ ”

A shudder ran through the crowd, but no one challenged her.

Korkie swayed, turned bewildered, mournful eyes up to Obi-Wan.

_I know. This is not what you were taught in school. I am sorry._

Satine turned— noise erupted immediately, deafening and passion-charged— and strode back inside.

Obi-Wan was about to follow her, when the screaming of the thousands resolved into a single chant:

_Sa-tine Kryze! Sa-tine Kryze!_

Obi-Wan watched as members of Death Watch surrounded Satine, seeking, and then accepting orders from her.

“What is happening?” Korkie asked, voice shaken and small.

“A coup,” Obi-Wan replied.

The boy trembled beneath Obi-Wan's hand. “But Aunt Satine is still in charge.”

“Yes.”

“The entire structure of the government just changed, with almost all the authority taken out of the hands of the people. What will the Republic do?” Korkie worried, clearly alarmed.

“They will reclassify Mandalore. Because the people have accepted this, because Mandalore is united? They will do nothing. This is what the people wanted. There is nothing to be done.”

Korkie reached up, took Luke's tiny fist into his hand. “How are we going to keep Lu'ika safe?”

“We all came very near to being hung or shot.” It was a truth that hung heavy over Obi-Wan's heart. “Your aunt staved that off. She has established a matter of honor. Now if anyone wants to take her place, they must challenge her first, before attacking Luke, you, or myself. It would be perceived across all of Mandalore's worlds as an act of cowardice otherwise... and it's open season on cowardice once again.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan returned to Satine's quarters and found her back in her formal Duchess attire.

At his surprise, she sent him a grim, almost cruel, smile. “They will find that life will continue on much the same as before. I will keep my people out of the Clone War, and I will continue our path to progress. I would have led them into the future with heads held high, in dignity and pride, but they prefer the chain, so I will drag them into a better future like a tooka in a harness.”

Obi-Wan took a step forward, reached out a hand, needing to touch her, feel that she was  _alive._

Her expression softened as he gripped her forearm. “Obi.”

“I feel unmoored. Like I'm tossed in a hurricane without a boat. The waves dozens of meters above my head, slamming around me and pouring water down my throat.” Obi-Wan tried to steady his voice, but only found the attempt partially successful. “Maul is dead, Vizsla is dead, Death Watch has sworn allegiance to you. Mandalore has been unified, continues to remain neutral, and hasn't murdered all of us. You are  _alive._ ”

He sank to his knees before her, pressing his cheek against her thigh. He closed his eyes and simply  _felt_ the aftermath of so much terror, and so much relief, as she soothed her fingers through his hair and waited for him to remember how to breathe.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Galactic news agencies had gone bonkers.

The “Skywalker Betrayed by Kenobi!” headlines shifted to “Murder! Pacifist Duchess is a Killer!” “Mandalore Elections for Prime Minister Canceled!”

Obi-Wan had only been present for one set of interviews before hiding, realizing he just couldn't handle listening to Satine's answers to questions.

“Duchess, you once said and I quote, 'Killing another sentient is a hideous thing, and it is the duty of leaders to make a stand against such death.' Do you still believe this to be true?”

“Certainly.”

“And yet there is footage of you brutally beating a man and then beheading him in front of a room full of spectators.”

“I did.”

“You are both pacifist and... killer, when the mood strikes you?”  
“Yes. Next question?”

That's when Obi-Wan had fled. He didn't even  _want_ to know what the galactic public was going to be saying. Mandalorian worlds didn't care— the extremists were pleased they had a mand'alor again, one who'd battled for the right and won, and the progress-minded Mandalorians were just relieved they weren't being ruled by the slavering butcher Vizsla. And the Neutral Systems did not care, so long as Mandalore was not in bed with the Republic.

They still weren't entirely convinced on that point, but the fact that Satine had quelled the uprising herself, without the use of her former-Jedi had made an impact.

Obi-Wan would be the first to admit he was currently hiding. There were things that required much thought.

Obi-Wan sat at the special strategy table in a room to the side of the throneroom, one disassembled lightsaber and three crystals before him on the table.

Luke lay sound asleep in the crib Obi-Wan had dragged over to rest right up against his leg while he sat.

When Satine entered, he didn't look up. She must be done with PR for the day.

 

* * *

 

“You're alive,” Obi-Wan said, voice unreadable. “And Maul is dead.”

Satine paused, watching him. “The opposite of what you experienced last time.”

“Nothing I have ever done has ever mattered, in the end,” Obi-Wan explained with a horribly precise tone. He was not seeking sympathy, he was not exaggerating, he felt himself to be stating  _exactly_ the truth, unvarnished, undecorated. “And I could not bear to hope. Hope has always cut the deepest.”

Satine leaned against the door frame and waited.

“But you are alive, and Maul is not.” At last Obi-Wan raised his gaze to her face, but there were still more questions than answers there.

Satine thought for a long moment before replying, “You wish to know if time is set in a certain direction. If it's safe for you to breathe, or if a speeder will come out of nowhere to claim me to resolve the conflict of my living when another time I died.”

“If any of my mind is to remain...” Obi-Wan's eyes— windows into a frightening, burning theater where he fled alone, staying only a breath away from madness— filled with tears, shattering the image. “I  _cannot._ ”

“So do not hope, just yet.” Satine shrugged. “There is no law that you must hope.”

Obi-Wan stared down at Luke. “But if the Empire can be prevented, if my people can survive... I should be fighting for it. And yet that has been the pitfall of many a vision-survivor. Sifo-Dyas foresaw a terrible war, and the Jedi's extermination, so he created a clone army. An army that was then  _used_ to carry out the very things he sought to prevent. Anakin feared his wife's death, and ultimately, he slew her. It is not an unusual story, in the history of my people, that the very striving and desperation to prevent a thing is what brings it to pass.”

“There is something you must take into account,” Satine pointed out without budging from her chosen spot. “Even without attempting to change the path of the river, things are different from what you lived before. You are no longer a Jedi or a General. I am no longer head of the Neutral Systems, and I have been declared mand'alor. Maul is dead. Vizsla's overthrow did not succeed. Already, things are not what they were.”

Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. “The task, _everything_ seems too monumental. There is no shore in sight, and I have been swimming for so long. I am not sure I have anything left with which to fight. What if I just drift on the waves until I drown?”

“Then no one would have any right to judge you. You have endured more than they will ever know.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Is not survival the end goal? Is not continuing to fight long after all hope is lost the _bare minimum_ of what is expected to be even somewhat worthy of respect?”  
“I think that if all you can do in this moment is make sure Luke is safe, fed, warm, loved, then by giving that, you _are_ giving your all. No one has the right to say it is not enough.”

“And if it  _isn't_ enough?”  
Satine arched an eyebrow at him. “When has it  _ever_ been?”

Obi-Wan stared at her, looking shocked and betrayed, and a horrible despair leaking into his countenance.

“There is always another child whose abuse one couldn't prevent, or a planetary civil war one couldn't prevent, or the death of a mother who was  _still needed_ by her children, or the death of hope of a being who could have filled the universe with song. No matter how many we help, how many we save, there are  _always_ more we  _couldn't,_ because we just can't split ourselves into that many places at once, and time rushes forward. In that sense, it is  _never_ enough.”

Obi-Wan cringed.

“But that is why you cannot measure what you give against numbers of needs met. Luke needs you. He has nowhere else to turn. So as you save Luke, save him  _thoroughly._ And maybe, if there is still some of yourself left that you can give, you can heal those kyber crystals lying there bleeding on the table. And if you cannot, you can wrap them up and send them to the Temple where they will be healed and their pain washed away. And in  _this_ sense, the sense that matters on the truest of levels, within the beat of your heart— you have  _always_ been enough.”

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, but no others followed, and his shoulders remained still, his breathing steady.

After a long moment, he reached out a gentle hand, lifted one of the kybers into his palm, closed his eyes, and reached out to it.

With a soft smile, Satine slipped from the room, noiseless, to make sure not to distract him.

_There is more of you left than you think, courageous heart. But only if you don't try to lift a planet all at once. Only if you breathe, one tiny, agonized breath at a time._

_Only if you give only what you have in that moment, and nothing more._

 

* * *

 

Anakin returned to Mandalore.

There was weird news in the Core, of crime syndicates acting out of character and Death Watch and  _weird things,_ and the Council had sent him to find out what the situation was.

And Palpatine had advised he insist on being there for Obi-Wan. To not let Obi-Wan run away, to make sure Obi-Wan knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Anakin would not abandon him. That Anakin would not leave.

Satine refused to leave the throne room, keeping on her throne with watchful gaze, but Anakin couldn't really blame her.

Obi-Wan's hand trembled, and he'd immediately turned Luke over to Satine when Anakin walked in before moving to stand between Anakin and Obi-Wan's family.

There was still quiet anguish and fear in those blue eyes staring back at Anakin, but Obi-Wan did not flee, did not attack, did not come apart.

“Is it true Maul and Savage nearly  _killed_ the three of you?” Anakin asked, his voice not quiet steady.

Obi-Wan gave him a small nod.

“And he's  _dead_ ?” Anakin pursued. “For  _good,_ this time?”  
“Burned to ash, and the ashes separated and scattered across the land of four different Mandalorian planets.”

_Oh._ Well. Maybe Anakin didn't have to worry about them not having been thorough enough.

“And the Duchess...  _took care of_ Vizsla?”  
“Yes.”

That was a puzzle for another day. How a pacifist had suddenly gained the skills to destroy a  _warrior._

“And Luke's okay?” Anakin pressed. “He wasn't hurt?”

“He's fine.”

“And you? Are you... unhurt?” Anakin couldn't bring himself to use the word  _okay,_ since it was obvious just by  _looking_ at Obi-Wan that he wasn't  _okay._

“Other than the obvious bruises, I'm none the worse for wear.”

_A patent lie._

What could he say?  _We need you at the front. It's been three weeks since you left the Order, and I feel completely lost. I haven't heard from Ahsoka since she left the Order. Padmé's scaring me with her anti-war talk._

He didn't feel that any of it was really an  _option._

“So... she's letting you be near Luke. I'm glad.”  _I was scared to death she would never let you see him again._

Obi-Wan simply gave a nod.

“I just wanted to say,” Anakin blurted, horrified that he was opening his mouth for a purpose other than to speak of the safest of topics, “that whatever you experienced that I did, I  _haven't_ experienced having done.”

Obi-Wan stiffened.

“And Force, I want to give you space, but I feel like a terrible human being, I lie awake hating myself for something I haven't even done, and I  _miss_ you, Obi-Wan.” A tear trembled on Anakin's lashes, and his breath caught in his throat.

Obi-Wan looked sad, and terribly wary. “You have wept and clung to me before, but it did not keep you from taking a saber to me in the end. I'm not sure I know how to trust, anymore. For you, violence is a whim. Get angry enough, and you lose all control over yourself. You just... hurt  _anyone,_ no matter how dear. You attacked, with intent to harm or maim or kill  _everyone_ you claim to love. It lurks in you, that capability to do so, and I've  _heard_ the promises before.  _Then._ The promises meant nothing with my heart shattered on the floor and staring down the length of your blade. A promise isn't enough for me, Anakin. I just— I can't.”

“What is enough?” Anakin rasped, unable to see now, through the tears pooling over his eyes. “Tell me. Please. Ahsoka's cut me out of her life, and Obi-Wan, I—  _need_ you. You're family. And the fact that you are afraid of me, that you can't trust me to be near your  _son._ ” Oh, Force, he was crying now, tears streaming down his face, and the Duchess could see it, and Obi-Wan could, and Anakin couldn't bring himself to care. “You're the only family I've got  _left._ ”

Obi-Wan had looked distressed until that last sentence, and then the cold distance appeared again. “I think you'll find that's not quite true. You have a wife, and you have Palpatine. And in the end,  _only_ Palpatine will matter.”

Anakin froze, fear and horror and relief thundering alike in his heart in a terrifying jumble. “ _Wife_ ? How long have you known?”

“Long. But you never seemed willing to trust me with that kind of truth about yourself, and I hoped that one day you would trust me enough to tell me yourself without being cornered. I waited until the end for that.”

Anakin tried to swallow and found he couldn't.

“And all I could think, after the Hardeen incident, was how righteous you looked standing there, the dying sun in your hair, scathing me for  _lying_ to you. How could I do such a  _hideous_ thing to you, and yet I knew, you just  _kept lying_ to  _me._ How  _dare_ I. But for you, it's just what's necessary. To think I went through all of that, just to try to  _save_ Palpatine for you. I shouldn't have bothered.”

A flash of injustice in those eyes startled Anakin. Before, Obi-Wan had always just accepted Anakin's resentment of the Hardeen thing. As if he knew he'd fripped up.

But there was only so far Obi-Wan was willing to accept punishment for it, when the man who scorned him for it...

_Oh._

Anakin realized his hands were shaking. “Why do you hate Palpatine so much?”

“No reason that you would believe.” Obi-Wan took one trembling step forward. “It's alright. I know what you choose, when it all comes down to that. Just know this. If you ever come to Mandalore with the intent of killing my family, or  _any_ Jedi who might seek asylum here, I will not hesitate the way I did before. You try to kill any of the people I love, and I  _will kill_ you.”

Anakin almost reeled, unable to breathe. There was such despair and anguish in those eyes, quivering in that voice.

Anakin managed a ragged swallow. “If I came to your home with the intention of killing the people you love, you  _should_ kill me.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head, and the determination seeped out of him as he stared at Anakin with sad disbelief.

“I want to trust you,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I  _miss_ you. I loved you  _so much._ ”

“Loved? You... don't anymore?” Anakin asked. And oh, his heart  _hurt_ so much he could barely speak.

Obi-Wan couldn't seem to speak, staring at Anakin and looking so ill, so broken—

“You killed everyone I loved, and when I arrived to demand why, you threatened me against crossing you.  _Don't make me kill you too,_ is what you said, and your last words to me were  _I hate you._ I— I've never felt pain like that before, and it hasn't gone away. With them being alive, it hasn't gone away.” Obi-Wan's hands were shaking. “I don't know how to trust. I'm not sure I know how to love anym—”

Anakin felt his own heart break again, but this time, it wasn't for himself. “Obi-Wan, you know how to love. You left the Order for Satine and your baby. Okay? You love Luke. And... you wouldn't be so hurt, if you didn't love me. Right? That's why you're so wrecked. You survived Dooku's betrayal, and Krell's, and maybe even other people's, but it's mine you can't get over. Because you love me.”

Tears slipped, one after another, in a single, straight track down Obi-Wan's left cheek, as if the other eye simply wouldn't cooperate.

“I have— I have crystals, from the sabers. Maul's, and Savage's. I healed one, but there's two left.”

Anakin watched him, heart pounding with such physical pain he thought it might wrench out of his chest and flop, bloody, on the glass floor.

“Someone a kyber does not trust cannot heal the broken heart of one. And I am not sure I can bear the heartbreak of all three. I'll take Maul's, if you— if you help Savage's second?”

_He's letting me near a wounded crystal?_

It was clearly a test. Clearly Obi-Wan trying to reach out.

“Okay,” Anakin breathed.

Obi-Wan turned, looked up at the throne. “Keep Luke safe while I'm gone?”  
“Always.”  
Obi-Wan nodded, braced himself, the truth of how much courage it took to do this echoing in the Force. He was scared to the _core,_ Anakin knew, and it brought tears again to Anakin's eyes, though they did not fall this time. He followed Obi-Wan from the room, and prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of and the Force itself that he wouldn't frip this up. That he wouldn't accidentally wreck this chance by unwittingly touching some hidden wound he didn't even know about yet.

Anakin entered the small room just off a hall leading from the throne room and stood back as Obi-Wan shut the door, and then Anakin's gaze drifted to a table where three shards of living crystal lay.

He could hear one of them wailing, still new to the abuse it had been forced to endure. Savage's second.

As for Maul's? Maul's had been ripped open and ravaged by a forced bond long over a decade ago. It no longer cried, it simply vibrated in the Force with shuddering breaths of pain, like a man who's screamed himself hoarse and yet still finds no relief from torture.

Obi-Wan gravitated to that one, leaving Savage's to Anakin.

_Can he take that much pain?_ Anakin worried. It was on par with Obi-Wan's own, but perhaps that's what both man and crystal needed. For the kyber to see it was not abandoned to the pain forever, and for Obi-Wan to see that something could heal, even if it couldn't be himself.

_Yet,_ Anakin corrected to himself. The thought of Obi-Wan's inner self looking like Maul's abused kyber was too horrific to contemplate. 

Anakin sat at the table, looked to a third crystal, one that no longer hurt. Savage's first. It reached out to him, brushed over his Force-signature, then away.

_Oh, you're curious._

It was clear, just like all unharmed kybers.

“Do you know what color it sings, when light passes through it?” Anakin asked, looking to Obi-Wan.

There was no scientific reason for why a kyber chose the color it did, to symbolize its bond with the person it chose. It was a gift, a surprise, and every once in a while, a kyber threw down a wild card, and gifted someone with something entirely out of the ordinary, just because.

There was nothing quite like completing a lightsaber, with a newly bonded kyber, holding your breath, flicking the switch, and seeing just what visual song the kyber sang.

Because they did sing. They sang their hearts out.

“Blue,” Obi-Wan murmured. “It— bonded to me. Though it knows there's another.”

_See, Obi-Wan? A crystal chose you._

He drew the healed one's whimpering twin to him.

_Hey, there. I'm Anakin._

He reached out, brushed Force-tendrils over it.

It recoiled, in pain and in fear.

_It's okay. I want to help. I want to make the pain stop._

Anakin's own crystal choked a little, and Anakin turned wide eyes down to his saber.  _What?_

He hadn't looked at it through the Force in well over two years. He just... he hadn't been meditating, certainly not centered on an object, and—

_Oh, oh Force—_

He nearly vomited as he recognized a stain on his crystal's surface.

_What?_

But then he knew.

He'd...

The Tuskens.

When his lightsaber crystal had chosen him, it had chosen to trust him to never use it for ill. Kybers  _hid_ from people who wanted to use them to harm and amass power and destroy. His had sung to him, had wooed him, had believed in him—

_And I forced it to—_

It was one thing to tell himself he'd been justified, when there was nothing and no one to argue. He almost believed it, most days.

But his lies could not ease the pain of his kyber.

In the song only he could hear, it seemed to ask one question over and over—  _why._

Why Anakin's pain had to mean smashing the kyber's hopes and trust and stuffing pain down  _its_ throat too.

Why.

_Oh, Force, I'm sorry—_

With trembling fingers, Anakin placed his saber on the table, used the Force to open it up, to reveal the crystal.

Still clear, but yes—

There was a stain across its side, a tarnish in the diamond-like glint.

_I'm so sorry,_ he swore.  _Forgive me, please, I'm sorry._

He reached for it in the Force, and for a long moment it hesitated, not sure if it was willing to trust again.

_Oh, please._ Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, felt his tears hit fast and slide down his cheeks.  _Please._

If the creature bonded with Anakin's very life-force and soul could not trust him again, how could he ever hope Obi-Wan would?

For agonizing moments, nothing happened. The song was silent.

Savage's crystal tried to silence itself, to not be noticed. To maybe escape being hurt again.

_You begged me to not, that night. I could feel your song pulling at me to not._

_What happened that night was not your fault. I would have killed them with my bare hands, if you had not given yourself and your power potential into my care years before._

And yet was that true? Would he have survived all those Tuskens, without that advantage? The Force was one thing, but he'd seen beautiful, powerful Jedi die at the hands of regular battle droids, simply because there were  _too many_ and they just  _didn't end._

_Without you I would have died that night. I would not have had the intelligence to refrain from a fight I could not win. That night was not your fault, and I am sorry I made you complicit in murder. I am sorry I broke your trust. Please..._

_Help me win back Obi-Wan. I need him. I need him so much. I don't want to be the... thing... he's so sure I become._

_Help me, please._

Hesitant, the crystal reached back to him, singing a few notes of  _their_ song, in a mournful key, and it twisted Anakin's heart with pain to hear how unsure it was.

It used to well up loud and confident from the crystal's soul.

_I came back for you, on Geonosis, didn't I? Your housing was destroyed, but I came back for you._

It did not want to be condemned to a lifetime of pain, and Anakin understood that.

Hell, it had every right to want something better.

In the Force, it curled back into his embrace, choosing him, again, one more time. Risking it.

Shuddering, grateful, so grateful, Anakin pulled off his left glove and soothed his fingertips over the kyber's surface.

In order to heal it, he would have to find a place of perfect peace.

Something he hadn't thought about when he agreed to Obi-Wan's request.

_Oh, it's over. I'm sunk._

He hadn't experienced peace since his mother. Hadn't meditated since then. He'd been knighted, and Obi-Wan had no longer possessed the right to demand it from him, so he'd just  _not._

He hadn't dared look to see what was inside himself since then.

_Because there's something terrible in there, and if I look, I won't be able to just keep going the way I have._

His crystal hummed to him again, a variation of their theme that Anakin had not heard since his nightmare of a time on Ilum, plagued by his fears and his anger.

It had been his fear and anger that kept him from finding his crystal, that day. For hours he'd searched, and then more hours he'd raged, panicked he would never find one. Obi-Wan had been waiting outside for him, would not come and help, it was a personal thing, a spiritual journey that a Jedi had to take  _alone._

_You found me then,_ his crystal seemed to say.  _You faced your fear and anger, quieted your mind, and heard me._

And now that same song wooed him again.

His crystal had  _chosen_ him that day on Ilum. It had  _meant_ it.

It would help him find his way home.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning specific for this chapter: Obi-Wan tries to heal Maul's crystal, and sees glimpses of Maul's childhood, feels impressions. Maul was a child raised alone with a droid and Sidious, and acute physical pain was the most common punishment for the slightest “failing.”

 

Obi-Wan's fist, closed so tight around Maul's kyber that blood dripped between his fingers, tightened further.

Anakin was in his own world. He'd become alarmed early on, pulled his kyber from its protective casing.

Obi-Wan stared at it, at the hideous stain across it, and his heart lunged into his throat.

He could hear nothing of the soul-conversation, one half thoughts, the other half song, that passed urgently between the kyber and its bonded. That sort of discussion could never actually be overheard.

Obi-Wan sat in his chair, hunched, waiting to see if his hope would die, or if—

No. He didn't dare.

Any moment now, Anakin would shove himself back from the table, and storm out, a thundercloud of rage and disgust.

He would give up, put the crystal back in the blade, force it to continue working with him.

Ignore its wound.

Once again, Anakin would blame the pain he caused on someone else, perhaps even on the kyber itself. Would he accuse it of not being loyal enough? Of nagging him? Would the kyber's pain be something  _it_ brought upon itself and  _it_ held on to when it should have just recovered, and because it didn't, it was an insult to  _Anakin_ ?

Obi-Wan's fingers tightened still further.

When had his brother turned into that man, inch by poisonous,  _awful_ inch? It was a character flaw that had been painfully evident through the teen years, but Obi-Wan had held hope that he would outgrow it with experience and time. That was what adults  _did,_ with flaws from their teen years, and all teens  _had_ flaws.

Hells knew Obi-Wan had possessed  _many._ Not all of them overcome yet, but maybe he would have time left. Maybe.

Tears spilled from Anakin's eyes, and his fingers caressed the stone, and then the kyber was warm in the Force and soothing, and Anakin began to inch his way down into a meditative place.

Obi-Wan watched, too frightened to move, and waited.

 

* * *

 

There was vileness inside.

It nearly burned Anakin to look.

He hadn't used his lightsaber to kill the Blood Carver, back when he was twelve. He'd... he'd killed that man with his bare hands. He'd just locked that away, trying to hide from it and run from it, and  _that_ was why meditation had stopped being an amazing and wonderful thing to explore with Master Obi-Wan.

No, exploring the landscape of his own mind and of Obi-Wan's had once been incredible, filled with strange colors and shapes, echoes of laughter and tears, and so many, many interesting discoveries.

And Obi-Wan had let him explore, had not closed him out.

It had been Anakin who shut down, after the Blood Carver. He hadn't wanted Obi-Wan to know. He'd had to fight so hard to keep it secret. The Force stopped feeling like an amazing, beautiful place to explore, had felt frightening.

He'd used it to kill. And not just kill, but to kill...  _brutally._ Anakin had seen the look on his civilian friend's face when she saw what he'd done, the absolute  _horror._

They...

Hadn't been friends after that.

And then later, with Ferus, hating Ferus so  _much._ Ferus didn't actually bully him, Anakin couldn't twist the truth quite that far. Ferus wanted to excel, and he was a little bit wound tight, but he had never been  _mean-spirited_ towards Anakin. He just hadn't loved him, hadn't been a friend.

_But I..._

Anakin swallowed. He hated admitting  _anything_ , hated  _owning_ anything—

His crystal's song turned anxious.

_No, no. I won't stop. I'm going to look everything awful I've done in the face. I'm not going to make excuses right now._

The crystal's worry relaxed, and it soothed him again.

_I can do this._

Anakin had bullied Ferus. He'd recognized at the time that he probably shouldn't be doing all the things he did, but at the time he'd told himself Ferus deserved it, for being... for being stuck up.

But was being stuck up, without being malicious, truly a crime?

_I... I was the bully. Not Ferus._

And there was something worse. Something...  _so much_ worse...

Darra.

Darra had been sweet, earnest, in the circle of people Anakin considered friends.

_But_ she'd also been friends with Ferus, and hadn't been interested in choosing between Anakin and Ferus, which meant to spend time with her, they often ended up in the same place. Not to mention their masters worked together often, because as a team, they usually were able to get things done well. And...

Their masters were friends.

Anakin let himself remember seeing a seventeen-year-old Ferus fiddling with Darra's lightsaber, adjusting the focus while she and Tru, their other friend, Anakin's  _best_ friend, watched.

Anakin swallowed, but his throat seemed filled with fire.

_I knew the focus was off._

He'd known.

_I... I chose not to say anything._

In the days after what happened, he'd told himself that it had been because he wasn't a tattler.

But that hadn't been it at all.

_I... I wanted it to malfunction. And then everyone would ask what had happened, and Ferus would fall on his face. I wanted him brought down a peg. I wanted him to fail._

Ferus had never actually wanted Anakin to  _fail,_ he'd always just wanted to be better. Wanted to be the  _best._

_Same as me._

Only Anakin's ambition... didn't just include being  _best._ It included the humiliation of... opponents. Enemies.

Anakin hadn't given thought to Darra at the time. He'd technically known the risks, he'd seen holos of a saber exploding in the hands of a Jedi who'd not attuned it properly, had been required to see those before he went to construct his own first lightsaber. Blasé initiates lost  _hands_ and sometimes eyes. It wasn't something to take lightly.

He hadn't considered the danger to Darra.

In the end, Darra's saber hadn't exploded. She hadn't been harmed that way.

But...

They went on mission.

And still Anakin had said nothing.

And then they were in desperate, unexpected battle, and Darra needed her blade to protect her, to  _survive—_

It had given out. Failed.

And she—

Anakin shuddered, felt the room creak and the walls crack around him.

She'd died.

Ferus' horror, his guilt, his devastation, what had he  _done—_

He'd thought he'd known what he was doing.

He went before the Council, so broken by the accident that he gave up his life's dream, resigned, and the instant he turned eighteen and legally could do so, he walked away from the Order, convinced he was guilty of the death of his friend, however unexpected and unintended the consequences.

And Anakin had just...

Watched.

Watched him go. Even though he knew Ferus hadn't truly been at fault.

Even though he knew...

If he'd simply  _said_ something, to Darra, to Darra's master, to Obi-Wan, to Ferus himself...

His three friends had made an honest mistake.

He had chosen silence.

Tru found out.

By then, Ferus was gone, and Tru didn't turn Anakin in...

_Maybe he should have. Oh, Force, maybe he should have._ Though at the time, Anakin would have hated him for it as a “betrayal.”

No. Tru did not turn him in, but he moved as far away from Anakin as he could get, and they had not spoken since. Hell, Anakin didn't even know where Tru Veld was stationed these days. He knew he'd been knighted, but...

That was it.

He'd...

He'd been knighted  _after_ Anakin, even.

_Out of spite, I risked Darra being hurt._

_She didn't end up hurt, she ended up dead._

_Out of an unwillingness to accept responsibility for my own frip up..._

_There's a man out there, still convinced he killed his dearest friend._

Oh, gods, was Obi-Wan  _right_ to fear him—?

He'd... chosen to classify the Tuskens as animals, so it was alright to do anything to them, which was exactly what he'd seen slavers do a thousand times over.

Making them less, and then taking away what was theirs.

_I... looked at kids... decided they had no value... and I... killed their parents in front of them, and then killed them._

No  _wonder_ his crystal was stained and struggling to trust him. No  _wonder_ Obi-Wan feared him.

_Oh my Force, what the hell am I?_ Anakin's soul wailed.

He'd escalated. Like those serial killers you heard about on the HoloNet.

Gone from killing someone who had meant to hurt Obi-Wan, to letting his friends suffer to further his pride, to killing... innocent children... who hadn't actually  _done_ anything. And he hadn't just  _killed_ them, he'd inflicted absolute  _hell_ on them beforehand, by forcing them to watch the slaughter of... hold  _their_ mothers while...

_Exactly what was done to me. Except I didn't do it only to the people who deserved it. I did it to... to people like I was, when I was nine._

What in hell's name would he do  _next_ ? Hurt Padmé? Scare her?

...Hurt Obi-Wan?

_I don't want to be this person. I don't want to keep escalating. I don't_ want _to be this person!_ _Please!_

Ignoring it had only made it get worse and worse. And all his justifications and excuses had led to  _more._

Something had to change. He couldn't just keep  _doing_ things without truly weighing the consequences for him as a person, and the people he loved.

And he couldn't leave the role of conscience up to Obi-Wan, because Obi-Wan wasn't always there. Couldn't always be there.

_This is something I have to do for me._

 

* * *

 

The room warped around them, and Obi-Wan held very still, wondering if he would end up impaled by glass shards.

All said, that might be the least awful death he could expect at the hands of Anakin Skywalker.

There came a point when Anakin looked horrified and grieved, and mourning filled the room, laced with guilt.

And then Obi-Wan witnessed something that had not happened in  _years._

Anakin Skywalker reached to the Force and just  _looked_ and  _felt._

Obi-Wan did not know what he saw, perhaps the arc of galaxies, or the whisper of atoms in the air, or perhaps the lights twinkling across the galaxy, everywhere where there was a being loyal to the Light.

Whatever Anakin saw and felt, the turmoil and hate and trauma quieted.

There was just Anakin, breathing, and the Force.

From that place of oneness with the Force, Anakin reached out again to his crystal, his fingers tracing over it, and everywhere he touched, the stain faded away as the kyber healed. The blurred, darkened facets cleared, sparkling pure and clear and beautiful.

Anakin reached for Savage's wounded crystal, and caressed his thumb against it.

That one would require more than just a touch from a place of peace and wholeness. It would require Anakin to access empathy on a profound and agonizing level.

Obi-Wan looked down at the now-bloodied crystal he still held.

_And if I wait and watch, then he'll know I had to know if he_ could  _access such a selflessness anymore._

He'd be caught.

Not to mention the crystal in his hand had suffered too long, and making it wait even more hours seemed pointlessly cruel, when Obi-Wan thought he had enough strength to at least try.

So he stood, lay down flat on the floor— experience with Savage's first crystal had left him passed out on the floor anyway, might as well not fall out of the chair this time— and laid the crystal beside his head.

_Hello,_ Obi-Wan whispered to it.

It watched him, wary and silent. Waiting to be  _owned_ again. Forced again. Hurt again.

Flickers of a child, crimson skinned with tiny horns, screaming in pain and terror. Sidious, the whole of his world, the beginning and end of it, and every anguished heartbeat in between.

A crystal that had once shone blue, who had sung to a beloved Jedi—

A crystal stolen, its person murdered, presented to a child.

A child told to hurt it, or suffer.

Oh, the crystal had tried to hide, but it had been too late, and the child too desperate to simply survive. The clumsy brushes of a mind trying to force its way in, demanding a bond, demanding an intimacy of soul—

And then screaming all of his rage and loneliness and pain and grief and abuse straight into the center of the crystal.

Obi-Wan's mouth dropped open, gasping in air.

The crystal let out a low whisper of pain.

Tears bled from Obi-Wan's eyes, and it wasn't just for what had been done to the kyber.

All that agony had come from a child. Just a little boy, who had been stolen from his mother and forced to endure absolute hell.

Obi-Wan's tears fell for Maul, too.

A man who had never truly escaped Sidious' stranglehold on his life, no matter how hard he tried and how far he ran.

It had been two scared, hurting kids in the Naboo power generator that day. Both had just wanted to  _live._

_I am sorry._

Not that he had saved himself, not that in the end, he had saved Luke and Satine...

But sorry that their lives had intersected in a way that made it necessary, instead of another way.

Because Obi-Wan couldn't hate that poor, precious child who lay shivering on a cold floor, beaten nearly to death for the smallest mistake.

_Just how many hooks does Sidious have in Anakin?_

Obi-Wan knew Sidious had manipulated Anakin, but he'd been manipulating something  _already there._ Obi-Wan didn't know what it was, but something had  _changed_ when Anakin was twelve. He'd thought maybe it was because of Anakin's first kill— the slaver they'd faced in battle when he was fourteen. Though...

For a first kill...

It hadn't exhibited the usual hallmarks  _of_ a first.

It had also been easy for Anakin and swift.

And two years after Anakin had already begun to change.

_Oh..._

At the time, it had been unfathomable, to think that his precious Anakin, sweet, filled with light and love Anakin, could have killed before,  _already._

But his precious, sweet, filled with light and love boy had changed rapidly, turning into a rage-filled, arrogant, occasionally cruel teenager. One who, if he did not like a decision Obi-Wan made, would throw Qui-Gon's death in his face, as simply a tool to hurt him.

Who had systematically torn at Obi-Wan's self image, ripping it to pieces and leaving Obi-Wan wondering if maybe Anakin was right. Maybe Obi-Wan was expecting too much, or was too strict, or just... somehow fundamentally lacking as a human being, even.

And then he was knighted. And oh, maybe he shouldn't have been, but everyone had recognized Anakin was not progressing as Obi-Wan's padawan, and he had already reacted  _very_ poorly to being entrusted to another Jedi while Obi-Wan was presumed dead on Jabiim.

The hope was knighthood would give him the space he needed to grow.

Obi-Wan had recoiled from Anakin's decision-making, no longer taking responsibility for it, shrugging if someone experienced consternation over one of Anakin's poor choices. He'd even managed to have some sort of mostly positive relationship with Anakin again, so long as he never suggested Anakin had done anything wrong. Ever. Despite Anakin being quite free with his own opinions of Obi-Wan's decisions.

Anakin required a constant flow of praise, and was swift to forget compliments or encouragement in favor of sulking again. He seemed to expect to be perfect  _now,_ before years of experience, as if  _anyone_ ever  _was._ He didn't want to grow, didn't want to become better, certainly expected everyone to pretend his mistakes never happened, while simultaneously harboring a visceral disgust and hate because of mistakes  _others_ made, withholding forgiveness like a miser from all but a chosen few, and them, only under certain circumstances.

Obi-Wan knew there was more to Ahsoka leaving than just what had happened with Barriss. It had been painful and awful, but Ahsoka was a level-headed being, far more so than her master, and there had been no hate and resentment when she walked away.

She hadn't walked away from the  _Council,_ though they had been a useful excuse, a shield and buffer, and Obi-Wan hadn't said anything because Anakin already hated the Council, and Ahsoka didn't deserve to have Anakin despise her too.

But the real reason, the underlying one, was beginning to show.

Jedi left the Order sometimes, for whatever reason. They usually kept in touch with their loved ones still in the Order. Hell, Dooku had remained friends with Mace right up to Geonosis, differences in political opinions and all.

Ahsoka had cut Anakin off entirely. Dropped off the map, closed down their bond, and hidden herself from him.

Anakin couldn't understand, said again and again that he was the one who had believed in her, so  _why_ ?

Because he still thought it had to do with the bombing.

Obi-Wan thought back to Mortis, to sitting watch by the fire while Ahsoka slept.

Seeing the fire flicker, hearing a voice,  _Ahsoka's_ voice, the Cosmic Force warping and shuddering as she spoke.

_“Are you happy child? Your master, does he treat you well? I am your future. There is a recklessness in you, young one, and seeds of the dark side, planted in you by your master. You will never see your future if you remain his student. Leave this planet!”_

It had taken her nearly a year before she finally accepted what she had seen, what she had heard.

Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought of Ahsoka trying to tell Anakin why she had to spend time away from him. He'd tried to follow her out, and she had pushed him back.  _“I need time away from the Order, and from you.”_

Even with the buffer of the Order, he'd recoiled.

_She knew you never meant to hurt her..._

_But harm lurked anyway. She had to get out._

Obi-Wan knew she kept in secret contact with Plo, though Obi-Wan had made sure Plo understood Obi-Wan did not wish to know  _anything_ unless she needed help.

If Anakin found out Obi-Wan knew about Ahsoka when he himself did not...

Well, Obi-Wan had intended to be there for Anakin. In the days  _before._

Obi-Wan turned his head against the floor, peered at the still-crimson-stained crystal.

In looking into the heart of the crystal's pain, Obi-Wan had come face to face with his own and quailed.

_I was distracted. I am sorry._

It did not take his intention to help in a very serious light.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Anakin sagged in his chair, sweating, every muscle and bone in his body aching, his heart and mind raw, and two little kybers on the table in front of him, not a flaw to be seen within their clear, gorgeous selves.

He did not feel  _good._ This level of soul-searching never did, he knew there was kark he would have to deal with from here on out, just having thought about it once wouldn't be enough if he wanted to change the trajectory of his life.

_“Your focus determines your reality,”_ Qui-Gon had once told him, and Anakin had always been haphazard about focus, letting himself go wherever the whim took him.

_I want to be the kind of man Padmé can trust. That a kyber, something about as pure and wholesome as can possibly be in this universe, can trust. That maybe even Obi-Wan can trust again._

He wouldn't get there by just floating with the currents, only doing whatever he felt like doing at the time.

He had to aim for it and swim. Bring focus to bear on going in the direction he wanted.

He looked up, expecting to find Obi-Wan finishing up with Maul's crystal, but instead saw Obi-Wan lying on the floor, body clearly wracked with distress as he tried.

Anakin moved to crouch beside him and the wounded kyber, the trouble becoming very clear to Anakin.

Obi-Wan carried too much pain of his own, to take on the heartbreak of this stone. He was fracturing under the weight of trying, and the crystal held no hope of a successful rescue.

Obi-Wan had clearly succeeded in healing one of Savage's kybers, but Maul's held just too much  _history._ Years and years more agony than Savage's.

“Hey,” Anakin murmured, hesitant to touch him. “Can you hear me?”

Obi-Wan squinted exhausted eyes open at him.

“You need to take a break. You don't have the strength for this right now.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Suffered long enough.”

“Then you'll need help. You won't get anywhere without it.”

“The kybers?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin called them over, placed them in Obi-Wan's palm. Allowed Obi-Wan to sense both clear, healed shards. Shards that trusted Anakin.

“I, um. Yoda asked me to bring the one from your lightsaber.” Anakin drew a small case from his pocket, opened it. “It's been missing you.”

The other two stones slipped from Obi-Wan's fingers to the floor as he reached for the one that had bonded with a newly-christened knight, heart so torn with grief for a master fallen too soon. A saber that had followed him through everything, that had stood by him...

Obi-Wan's fingers, crusted with dried blood, closed over it.

Anakin recognized that it was singing for Obi-Wan, though he could not hear the melody.

Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped into the floor, and his expression shifted from tense to pure exhaustion.

Silent, Anakin offered up his power. He had so much of it, so very much, and to give it to be used for something so good, so  _decent_ as healing such a wounded crystal...

Obi-Wan hesitated but a moment more, listening to his saber's kyber, and then he drew on Anakin's strength, channeling it to bolster him up so he could caress away Maul's crystal's pain and grief.

 

* * *

 

Not an ounce of strength remained between the two of them.

Lying on the floor, a small pile of crystals between them, neither quite looked into the eyes of the other so close.

One of the kybers was bonded to Anakin. One remained unbonded. And—

“What am I going to do with  _three_ kybers?” Obi-Wan asked, sounding bewildered.

Anakin had no idea. “Grow another hand, maybe?”

That dragged Obi-Wan's gaze over to meet his. He received a look that clearly said Obi-Wan had  _meant_ his question.

Anakin called over his saber pieces, setting them on the floor between them. “See what color it is?”  
“How is that important?” Obi-Wan asked, looking again to Maul's crystal, a crystal that sung to Obi-Wan, had chosen to bond with him.

The first person it had chosen since losing its beloved, and all the trauma that had come since.

“It's a song just for you,” Anakin murmured. “It's important.”

Cautious eyes shifted again, found Anakin's. For a long moment they searched, though Anakin did not know what for.

Obi-Wan  _did_ sit up, using the Force to put the pieces of Anakin's saber back together, with Maul's crystal at its heart. After a moment's pause, where it almost looked like Obi-Wan was gathering courage, he took the saber in hand and pressed the ignition switch.

A shaft of light formed, a pure, burning white.

Maul's crystal was too sad, too broken to ever sing a color again, but though sad, it had  _survived._ It was there, it was loyal, and it had  _chosen_ the person it was bonded to this time.

Obi-Wan's expression softened as he looked at it.

_Two blue, one white._

And an additional somebody for  _someone,_ who just hadn't been found yet.

Obi-Wan released the newly-bonded crystal from the housing, gave Anakin back the saber.

“Thank you, for helping,” Obi-Wan murmured.

Anakin didn't move just yet, not wanting to break the fragile bubble of non-terror. “You needed me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, it was visible, and it looked like it hurt. “I... cannot get close to you again, Anakin. I cannot survive that level of hurt again, and... Satine is alive. I want to live. I want to see where she goes, what she accomplishes. And I want to see...” Obi-Wan's voice faltered with tears, just a bit, “Luke grow up.”

“That's good. Those are good things, Obi-Wan.” Anakin still didn't move. “I know you're really scared, but I would never betray you. I promise.”

“If I tell you why I'm so afraid of Palpatine, then you will feel forced to choose between us... and I know who you chose last time. Besides. You would go to him to confront him, to find the truth out for yourself, and it would destroy me, destroy the two-twelfth, destroy  _everything._ ”

Anakin frowned. He sounded insane. He sounded...

He sounded like the war had really gotten to him.

Palpatine had pointed out that men often changed in war. That their  _minds_ changed. That sometimes... something snapped, and they could no longer fight the way they once had, could not...  _relate_ the way they once had. That Obi-Wan probably did not hate  _Anakin,_ but that he was fundamentally wounded by the  _real_ horrors he had passed through in the war.

_Gentleness and understanding are what he needs, Anakin,_ is what Palpatine had said.  _You don't have to convince him his hallucinations are false. You just have to make him feel safe with you. It is frightening, when someone you love slips into madness, but it does not have to mean he is lost to you, Anakin._

The war had broken Obi-Wan, the shock of having a child had been the final straw doing in the eopie's back, and now what Obi-Wan needed was healing.

_He can't come back to the war._ Or missions. He needed to just... heal.

_He's certainly given enough. Blood, tears, Qui-Gon, terror, his sanity..._

Anakin managed a sad smile. “I will always love you,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan simply looked at him, so sad, so devoid of hope.

And then he stood and left, leaving all the crystals behind, and Anakin simply lay there wondering how long it would take before spending time with his best friend didn't feel so awkward.

 

* * *

 

Anakin Skywalker left.

This time, Obi-Wan did not tremble as he watched him go. There was a grief there, a lack of hope, but not dread.

“I am not the first trusted friend to warn him. Padmé tried,  _before_ .” Obi-Wan sighed. “I fear he will hear nothing.”

“Padmé does not trust Palpatine now, either,” Satine murmured. “She is doubting the direction of this war.”

“Has she tried speaking to Anakin of it?” Obi-Wan asked.

Satine felt sorry for him. “He grows agitated every time. Shuts down, stops listening, oftentimes leaves the conversation entirely.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I fear it is too late for him.”

“Perhaps you cannot save him.”  _At least, not by trying. Your trying wasn't what saved me, either. By pushing him, you might bring about what you dread._ “But perhaps there is another you  _can_ save.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “There are so  _many._ ”

“Think of one you can maybe save, and see if you can help that one.”

Obi-Wan looked to her with a wan smile. “And if I find strength I do not know I possess, then another? And perhaps one more after that?”

“One might almost think you knew me.”

But instead of a quiet tease in return, he stepped into her space and kissed her on the mouth, his lips gentle.

Satine pressed back, just as gentle, and did not deepen the kiss.

“I do not know who this one might be,” Obi-Wan whispered as he pulled back, the worry still so deep in his eyes.

Satine smiled. “Think about it for a while. You have a safe Luke, three healed kybers... maybe there's another person you could help, just a bit.”

 

* * *

 

“Master Koon, I need to get in touch with Ahsoka.”

“Certainly, Obi-Wan. I will let her know.”

 

* * *

 

When Obi-Wan opened the door, he expected to find Ahsoka on the other side.

Except it wasn't.

It was Boil, in civvies.

“Sir. I am no longer with the GAR.”

Horror seized Obi-Wan. “You  _deserted_ ? Boil, military law is  _absolute,_ they will  _execute you!_ It nearly killed Ahsoka!”

“I did not desert, General. I researched what resigning from the military is like, and I filled out forms I found, and submitted them, and then I left.”

Obi-Wan couldn't breathe. “Legally speaking, you're not a human being, Boil. Not a person. Because of the Republic's laws on cloning, for all intents and purposes you are simply spare parts for Jango Fett. And since he's dead, for the  _military_ . Your fate will be decided by men like  _Tarkin,_ and there is nothing I can do!”

Oh, gods,  _please,_ not Boil. Not after Waxer—

“If I had deserted, men like Tarkin  _would_ be deciding my fate, Sir. But I simply resigned, in a way that is in accordance with Republic law and tradition. I also sort of gave my story to the biggest news agency that doesn't seem to be all  _bad,_ in exchange for them dropping me off on Mandalore. And I made contact with the sentient rights watchdog organizations.”

“The Republic will demand extradition—”

“Don't you see, Sir?” Boil smiled, just a little. “I turned it from a matter of desertion, into a sentient rights issue, and the whole Republic is hearing about it right now. This isn't just a military matter, anymore, it's political, which means I qualify as a political refugee. And I'm asking for asylum on Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan dragged a shaking hand down his face. “I do not have the power to grant it to you. It will be Satine who decides.”

“I am prepared to face that, Sir. But after Waxer... I could not stay. Because I'm not a 'person,' I was not required to sign a contract upon 'joining' the military, so there is no set term of years I am required to serve. I am breaking no agreement  _I_ have made, and I cannot keep going, General. I don't have it in me, I cannot  _stand_ be there one second more. I am ready to present my case to the Duchess, but Sir... if I could see your child first? Just for a moment?”

He sounded so weary, so grieved, and so  _needing_ that Obi-Wan's heart felt crushed in a vise.

He managed a nod, and went to go lift Luke from the cradle, carrying him over.

Tears blurred Boil's eyes and he reached out a hesitant finger to ever so gently brush the back of one tiny hand.

“This is Luke,” Obi-Wan whispered, part of him screaming at him, why was he letting Anakin's son be near a member of the 212 th , who sought to murder Obi-Wan at the drop of a single order from the Chancellor.

As if they hadn't betrayed him to die.

But...

“I feel guilty for leaving my brothers behind,” Boil choked, swiping his hand over his eyes. “Some of them hate me for it. But you got out, Sir, and I thought maybe I could too, maybe I wouldn't have to die alone in the mud on some planet that means nothing to me.”

“You did the right thing, Boil. I think your brothers will forgive you. For over two years, Clone Rights has been a largely Jedi-driven initiative, and because of that, only one party was willing to touch it. It's  _too_ political. The other wing can't possibly agree, because they couldn't see it for what it was. But you are just a soldier. There are no eons of political play surrounding you. Maybe your voice can be heard, where ours is not. You are fighting for your brothers, Boil. You have not abandoned them.”

_Unlike me._

 

* * *

 

“Granting him asylum is clearly the right thing to do.” Satine paced, eyes narrowed as she thought. Obi-Wan watched, aching for the clone outside the deliberation room, waiting for a decision.

“However, if the Republic demands him under the extradition treaty the Neutral Systems has with both CIS and Galactic Republic, and I  _refuse_ to give him up, it could be seen as an act of open hostility to the Republic.”

“Placing Mandalore's position with the Neutral Systems in danger again,” Obi-Wan recognized.

“And potentially giving Palpatine the excuse he's been searching for to invade Mandalore. If that happened, over  _this_ ? It is highly unlikely the Neutral Systems would back Mandalore up. We would be abandoned to famine and invasion. Given the tenuousness of our supply lines... our resistance would not be able to last long. The siege would not last.”

“What of your people then?” Obi-Wan felt the tentative hope he'd experienced when speaking with Bail grow cold. “Is it right to gamble with their lives?”

“For an outsider? Perhaps not. My loyalties lie with my people first. But if the individual in question was  _Mandalorian,_ I could justify much to myself.”

“The clones are not claimed as citizens of anywhere,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Certainly not of Kamino, and not of the Republic itself. If they are property, it does not matter. If they are  _individuals,_ then their citizenship is up for grabs.”

Satine sat in the closest chair, crossing one leg over the other and her chin tipping forward, clearly thinking hard. It made her look like a queen of old, though, and it sent a familiar shiver along Obi-Wan's skin.

“Jango Fett was hardly part of a clan, but he  _was_ born on Concord Dawn. He claimed armor. He was simply a bounty hunter, not truly one of us, not of Mandalorian blood, so it is a thin claim to Boil that I have. But with public outcry against slavery and with no one ready to contest my claim...” Satine's fingers tightened around the arms of the chair. “For the Republic to counter me, they could try to claim him as  _property._ However, according to the Yavin Convention, a being proven  _sentient_ cannot be  _owned._ I can clearly prove, using the Yavin Code's criteria, that Boil Fett is a sentient individual, and that to demand his return  _as_ property would be a violation of the Yavin Convention.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “If they kept insisting, there would be mass retaliation. Member worlds would certainly hesitate to support the Republic, with matters put in those terms. The only way for them to require you to give up Boil at that point, without drastically undermining their own power base, would be to claim he is a citizen of the Republic, and therefore they have the right to demand extradition to try him in a military tribunal. But if they claim him as a Republic citizen...”

“Suddenly he has rights.” Satine grinned. “You must have taught your men more of the art of political war than you realized.”

_I don't know how much he knows about what he's done and the political situation of Mandalore, but..._

Whether it had been genius, desperation, or the Force's guidance, Boil had done something no one else had been able to do.

Create a karkstorm that might be even louder than the fripping war, something that might actually make the politicians  _listen_ .

 

* * *

 

It was nearly painful to watch Boil as Satine pronounced him a political refugee, under her protection, and offered him Mandalorian citizenship.

Boil had barely heard the first part when his knees gave out, dropping him to the glass floor, tears blurring in his eyes.

He managed a, “Yes, please,” when she asked him if he would like to be a Mandalorian citizen, and he whispered the name  _Boil Fett_ with trembling lips.

With the official statement over, Satine beckoned her guards out of the room, and left Obi-Wan alone with the shattering soldier.

Obi-Wan had no idea what to say, so he knelt beside Boil, and simply was  _there._

“Sir?” Boil choked at last, but still no tears had fallen. “Am I free?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against tears of his own. “Yes, Boil. You are free.”

Boil seemed to collapse in on himself, the sobs ripping out from deep inside him. Obi-Wan still didn't know what to do, so he simply stayed put, feeling his own tears slip down his cheeks.

“Am— I— a  _person_ ?”

“You have  _always_ been a person. And now, in the eyes of the Law on every Mandalorian world, you have every right and protection that a Mandalorian has access to. You will be asked to swear allegiance to the Duchess, but you could retain your refugee status without being a citizen, if you would rather not swear such an oath.”

Boil swiped a hand down his face, and fished a necklace out from under his shirt, holding up the pendant at the end. Obi-Wan recognized the image of one of Ryloth's gods.

“Waxer had this. It made him feel things. I didn't get it, it was just some Twi'lek.” Boil's fingers closed over it, so tight his knuckles paled. “But I understand now. The Duchess.  _She_ is a goddess. A  _mother._ ”

Obi-Wan felt his heart skip a beat. The word was spoken with such reverence, such  _weight._

For a baby grown in a tube, never knowing what it was to have someone stand between him and harm, to provide safety and a place of belonging....

“Yes,” Obi-Wan found was all he could say. To both claims.

“I would wear her image, and feel something,” Boil rasped with a nod. “And I will gladly swear allegiance to her. If she had a Temple, I would go kneel there. Waxer... I wish Waxer was  _here._ ” He reached blindly for Obi-Wan, needing contact, needing to not be  _alone._

Obi-Wan knew what it was to lose your closest brother. His heart broke for Boil, and he moved so that he knelt before the overwhelmed man, and guided Boil's head to rest on the top of his shoulder as Obi-Wan leaned forward and pressed his own forehead to the top of Boil's opposite shoulder, their ears close together, hands gripping one another's elbows.

It was a Jedi embrace, one Boil's shock proved he'd seen happen, in the most dire of circumstances, and at first he froze in fear, so many years of military distance drilled so deeply into his core, but then he sagged into it, clinging to Obi-Wan and allowing himself to weep for Waxer.

And Obi-Wan let himself feel the terrible weight of torment and relief, loss and bewildering gain that Boil felt.

Though it made Obi-Wan feel ripped open and emptied inside...

Boil was not alone, as he mourned. And as Boil leaned into the embrace, Obi-Wan realized he himself had needed one so badly. There had been no one,  _before,_ and he had been so afraid...

So he let himself hold and be held, let the tears fall, let himself feel his own grief and Boil's...

And each found the burden of it shouldered in part by the other, for a time.

 

* * *

 

It was strange, to see Padmé, Dooku, and Satine all in the same room.

“I find it morbidly amusing, Senator, that you are the one here to demand the return of a slave for your Republic,” Dooku prodded.

Padmé simply gave him a cool look in return. “I was sent  _before_ news of Boil Fett's situation reached us. I am simply here to see the condition of Mandalore's new government, and to reaffirm Mandalore's neutrality.”

“Oh, come now,” Dooku scoffed. “You wish for an army of Mandalorians, just in case your slave army revolts or walks away.”

“And you, Count,” Satine spoke up before Padmé had a chance to reply. “Why did  _you_ request audience?”

Obi-Wan stood to the side, keeping watchful, knowing Dooku was capable of attempting the murder of these two women at the drop of a hat. He'd killed Mina Bonterri, after all, a beloved  _Separatist_ Senator, and one of Dooku's strongest supporters, simply because she advocated a return to diplomatic discussions aimed towards a peaceful separation of CIS and Republic.

_Oh, yes. Misunderstood hero, you._ Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he stared at his grandmaster. Political idealism was one thing. Murder of an ally because she wanted killing to stop?

Something completely else.

_How are you any less corrupt than the government you seek to overthrow?_

“I am here to offer you full support, if the Republic tries to wrench one of your citizens out of your grasp. The CIS believes in system autonomy, and the Republic has no right to attempt to take Boil Fett from his rightful home. Should the Republic attempt to levy trade sanctions against you, the Confederacy will gladly lift our ban on trade with the Neutral Systems, ensuring the Mandalorian people have access to the food and medical supplies they need.”

Satine's eyebrow shot up. “Isn't that curious.”

“Anyone persecuted by the Republic is a friend of ours,” Dooku asserted.

“I'm sure,” Padmé offered, tone dry. “But the Republic has not yet decided what its official statement regarding Boil Fett is. I am only here to find out if Mand'alor Kryze intends to continue Mandalore's neutrality.”

“She has taken a bold stand against Republic tyranny. It seems to me her opinion on  _neutrality_ is clear.”

Satine cleared her throat. “Perhaps I shall be allowed to speak for myself? Count, I know you want my people for an army. Don't give me those innocent eyes. Both you and Palpatine want my people to awaken from their slumber and turn into a death machine you can pay to slaughter your chosen enemies. I will not have it.”

“Certainly, Mand'alor. Did I say anything about an army? I am merely here to express solidarity in your decision concerning Boil Fett. Though I am curious about how Obi-Wan Kenobi fits into all of this.”

Satine leaned back on her throne, eyes nearly gray in this light, and keen as a blade's edge. “Kenobi is a private individual now, whose citizenship is in the process of being transferred to Mandalore. He is the father of my son, and holds no official position in Mandalore's government or military. He has no say in any of this.”

“I somehow find that difficult to believe,” Dooku replied, his tone not hostile, but gentle instead. “But tell me: if the rest of Former-General Kenobi's clones follow him, will you grant them all status?”

Padmé went very still, and Obi-Wan could sense the turmoil within her.

She believed very strongly that the clones were being abused by the Republic. Padmé was just as loud a proponent on the Republic side as Bonterri had been on the Separatist, demanding the violence pause so that negotiators could meet and discuss the future.

And yet.

She also recognized Dooku's duplicity, that if the Republic disbanded their army  _before_ a peace treaty was ratified, it would be signing the death warrants of countless innocents. He would simply press the assault.

He'd sabotaged peace talks before by bombing civilian targets on Coruscant.

It had been a horrific and brutal thing, and it had launched the battles into full-swing once again.

_What would keep him from doing it again?_

So while Padmé believed the clones  _should_ be granted their freedom and the choice to leave...

Could she afford to have it happen  _now_ ?

“I intend to face the situation surrounding Boil Fett, and not vague generalities,” Satine deflected, unrattled and certainly not about to be tripped into saying something that could make her situation worse.

“The Republic will wish to ascertain what your intentions are, concerning the GAR,” Padmé asserted, looking to Satine.

“I will be glad to speak of this whole matter once you have received word of how the Republic is prepared to proceed,” Satine said, and it was clear she would  _not_ until then.

 

 


End file.
